Remus
by Shunyata Ryuen
Summary: From a timid, friendless first-year to a master of Defense Against the Dark Arts: a chronicle of the life of Remus J. Lupin, from his first year at Hogwarts to his last (and beyond).
1. I The Invitation

**Disclaimer:  **Harry Potter and all related characters belong to J.K. Rowling.  I...am not J.K. Rowling.

**Summary:  **From a timid, friendless first-year to a master of Defense Against the Dark Arts:  a chronicle of the life of Remus J. Lupin, from his first year at Hogwarts to his last (and beyond).  Although there is little more than a hint of it now, be warned that later chapters will contain Remus/Sirius slash.  If this offends you...well, then I suggest you either avoid those chapters (which will be clearly marked), or just avoid the fic altogether. *nod*  Flames will be ignored and chuckled at. :P

**Notes:  **This work is hereby dedicated to my good buddy Mouse-chan, who has turned my liking of dear Remus into an all-out obsession.  ^_~.  

**R e m u s**

by Ryuen

~*~

_I.  The Invitation  _

He awoke with a gasp.

It had been two years since the werewolf's fangs sank into his arm, and yet the beast's huge, glowing yellow eyes still infested his dreams.  Every specialist his parents had dragged him to that first year had assured him that the dreams would fade, that they were a normal psychological effect of a traumatic event and nothing more.  Yet when he woke up in his bed, bathed in a chill sweat, throat still hoarse from screaming, he couldn't help but think that it had to be more.  

That night, that horrible night...  He was sure, now, that the werewolf had been after _him_ in particular.  Four other boys had been with him, just as loud and foolishly-bold as he himself, and yet the wolf had never paused, never hesitated--it had lunged for _him_, and after sliding its teeth into his arm, it had simply...left.

Why stop short of killing him?  It had to have been on purpose--it _had_ to have been!  If it hadn't, if it had all just been some crazy fluke . . . then that would mean that his life, his very existence, was just a crazy fluke, too, and that . . . that wasn't something he liked to think about.

Trembling with reaction, Remus Lupin glanced around the dormitory.  It was still and silent, no sound but the muffled cackling of Peeves the poltergeist--apparently he was patrolling the hallway just outside Gryffindor house again--and despite the slightly-quickened breathing of the boy beside him, it seemed his cries had woken no one.  Still feeling shaky and vaguely sick, Remus gathered his mother's quilt around his small shoulders and crawled from his bed.  

At eleven years old, he was pitifully small compared to the rest of the first-years; his father was a stern, sturdy man of well over six feet, but despite the man's assertions that a growth spurt was in store for him, Remus had his doubts.  Not only did his mother barely reach his father's shoulder, but her entire side of the family was small.  He could only hope some sort of happy medium might be reached, or he was likely to be picked on as he was now until the end of his days--not a cheerful thought, particularly given the fact that life already seemed to be stacked against him.

What better way to alienate oneself from one's peers, after all, than transforming into a vicious wolf every month?

With a sigh, he padded down the stairs and entered the Gryffindor common room.  The fire still blazed cheerily, and after settling the quilt more tightly around his shoulders, Remus sank into a chair just in front of it and closed his eyes.  He wasn't ready for sleep yet--he rarely was so soon after.  Nothing woke him up like the nightmare, and typically, it saw him unable to return to sleep at all for the rest of the night.  Still, it felt nice to rest his eyes; the blaze of the fire fluttered against his eyelids, changing the dreary darkness into a warm red sea, and he was comfortable enough that he could almost forget those piercing yellow eyes, rising before him.

He relaxed more in the chair, a yawn sliding from his lips as his head sank back against the cushions.  Perhaps he would be able to sleep after all . . . 

"Lupin?"  
  


His eyes shot open; it was only the third week of school, so he hadn't been able to learn all his housemates' names yet, but this one, he knew by heart.

Sirius Black.

He blinked a few times.  Sirius stood only a few feet away from him, dark hair falling over his eyes, hands clasped almost nervously in front of him.  They had spoken to each other only once before, when they were paired up for a Potions assignment the second day of class.  Frustrated at Remus' inability to measure the ingredients correctly, Sirius had offered him less-than-kind words in a voice that boomed thunder-like through the lab; the Slytherins had thought it the most hilarious thing in the world, one Gryffindor turned against another, and had been teasing him relentlessly ever since.  

He hoped wearily that Sirius was not here to taunt him further; it was bad enough, the Slytherins calling him "loony, loopy Lupin."  But for a member of his own house to be against him, and one as popular as Sirius...

He was in no hurry to make close friends; they inevitably got _too_ close, finding out what they didn't want to know and then running when they did.  But just because he wasn't looking for close friends didn't mean he wanted to be hated and ostracized.  Some of the other boys had made vague overtures of friendship towards him since school began, especially Sirius' friend James, but it was clear that they thought of him as something of an outsider.  If Black were to alienate him, it was likely the others would follow.  He swallowed.

"Hi," he said cautiously.  

Sirius swept the hair out of his eyes; his hands were large for an eleven-year-old, much like the rest of him.  Remus had envied him his broad, muscular shoulders and sturdy limbs since the first moment he'd glimpsed the other boy, but would never have dared comment on such a thing; he could feel his cheeks warming just thinking about it.

The dark-haired boy took a hesitant step forward; it was strange to see him acting so tentative.  "Are you okay?  I...I heard you..."  He trailed off.  Remus winced.

"I'm okay," he said quietly.  "I just...  It was just a bad dream.  I get them sometimes."

He expected Sirius to laugh at him; what a baby he was, after all, shrieking and shivering over some stupid dream...

But much to his surprise, Sirius merely said, "Yeah, me too," and started down the stairs.

He was still gaping as the other boy slid forward, lowered himself into a nearby chair, and folded his hands in his lap.  Now that they sat so close to one another, Remus could see that Sirius' eyes were not the perfect black that they seemed from afar, but rather a warm, earthen brown, like the rich dark soil his mother reserved for her garden.

Sirius cleared his throat.  "Look, uh..."  His gaze strayed to the flames tumbling into one another in the fireplace.  "I'm sorry about the stuff I said in Potions that time.  I was just...I was having kind of a bad day, and I guess...I guess I took it out on you.  But I really shouldn't have, and I'm sorry."

Half certain that he had fallen asleep and this was some bizarre dream, Remus could only stare; his mouth was too dry to speak.

Sirius shifted a little uncomfortably in his chair, then abruptly rose to his feet and started for the stairs.  "Well, g'night," he shot over one shoulder, and as he raced by, Remus couldn't help but notice the flush that had crept into the other boy's cheeks.  He puzzled at that for a moment; had he done something to make Sirius uncomfortable?  Or was his mere presence enough to do that these days?  
  


It was a few seconds before he realized that Sirius had halted at the top of the stairs.

He lifted his gaze to the boy, confused, and was just in time to watch Sirius' lips bend up into a strangely-gentle smile.  "You oughta sit with us at lunch tomorrow," he said warmly.  "We Gryffindors have to stick together, after all."

And with that, he turned, pushed open the door, and vanished into the darkness of the dormitory.  Remus sat up in the chair until dawn, frowning thoughtfully at the chair where Sirius had sat, and it wasn't until he heard the rustle of the others stirring that he got up.

~*~

He had been dreading lunch all day, terrified that Sirius' invitation had been a mistake or a hallucination or just some cruel joke. The other boy had offered him a kind smile in the morning, and had sat next to him in History of Magic, so he was _almost_ certain that the invitation was geniune.  As he entered the dining hall, however, the lack of sleep just starting to drag at him, the terror returned; Sirius and his friends were seated at their usual place at the end of the Gryffindor table, and they were laughing uproariously about something.  James Potter had tears in his eyes, he was laughing so wildly, and Peter Pettigrew was pounding a fist on the tabletop.

He could almost hear them.__

_Yeah, the little baby was afraid of a stupid dream._

_Are you serious??_

_Yeah, he woke up screaming, and I swear, he looked like he was gonna cry!  I told him to come sit with us today, hahahaha, I wonder if he really thought I was serious._

Remus froze where he was, just steps past the archway; a few second-year girls, who had been filing in behind him, were forced to skid to an angry halt, but he didn't pause to apologize.  His heart was hammering against his ribs, and there was a hot weight in his throat that was trying to climb up, get out...

He spun and ran out into the corridor.  He wasn't sure where he was running to, only that he needed to get away from here as quickly as possible, get someplace where he could think...

It had really been stupid of him, he thought, scrubbing at his traitorous eyes, to think that someone like Sirius Black would want to be friends with him.  He wondered if Sirius had waited until morning to tell his friends what had happened last night, or if he had woken them up right away so they could all have a good laugh.  He probably would've heard them if they'd done that, of course, but if they had been really quiet about it, then maybe...

He skidded to a halt in the center of the corridor, twenty or thirty meters past the dining hall doors, and pressed his hand over his eyes.  

He was being stupid.  After all, it was entirely possible that Sirius and his friends had been laughing about something else, wasn't it?  He'd probably just come in right after James told a great joke, or something.  He was just overreacting.  ...wasn't he?

He drew a shaky breath, catching a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby window.  His cheeks were streaked and wet, and there would be no hiding his puffy, tear-swollen eyes. If he walked into the dining hall and went to sit with Sirius and James and Peter now, they would all know he had been crying--the _Slytherins_ would know he'd been crying.  Jaw clenching, Remus wrapped both arms tightly around himself and retreated to the only solace he had found at Hogwarts so far--the boys' lavatory.

Once inside, he went to the last stall and slipped inside; after carefully sliding the bolt into place, he crawled up onto the toilet seat, brought his legs to his chest, and circled his knees with his arms.  Across the room, a faucet dripped steadily, and outside, a group of students passed with a murmur of speech and laughter.  He let his chin thud down onto the tops of his knees and closed his eyes.

He had been sitting there for awhile--he wasn't sure how long--when the door creaked open and two sets of footsteps pattered in.

"--where he got to," a low voice was saying.  The fact that the voice belonged to Sirius Black somehow didn't surprise him at all.  "He was in History of Magic.  Did you see him anywhere?"

The footsteps halted by the sinks; through the crack between the door and the wall, Remus could see Sirius' broad shoulders, as well as a few tufts of dark, tangled hair. 

"No, I didn't see him anywhere," came the lighter, slightly-higher voice of James Potter.  "Are you sure he heard you last night?"

"Yes," Sirius said a bit sharply, twisting on the faucet with a groan of old metal.  "I'm sure he heard me.  You don't think anything's wrong, do you?"

"I'm sure he's okay.  Maybe he went to see Madame Pomfrey. Wasn't he sick for a few days last week?  Maybe he had a relapse or something."

Sirius shut off the faucet with a quick wrist jerk.  "He looked fine in History of Magic."

"Well, I don't know, maybe he changed into a bird and flew away.  Honestly, Sirius, what's got you so worried?  I'm sure he's fine."

There was a long pause; despite the risk involved, Remus couldn't help leaning forward and pressing his face to the door. Through the crack, he could make out most of Sirius, the boy's head tilted down at the sink; James stood just out of view.

"I don't know what it is," Sirius admitted quietly.  "I guess maybe he reminds me a little bit of one of my younger cousins, or...I don't know.  I was pretty mean to him that day in Potions."  
  


James' voice was so low that he almost couldn't make out the words.  "Sirius, you'd just gotten word that your father..."  There was a slight rustle, as of James shaking his head.  "Anyone would've been snappy.  And a _normal_ person would've taken the day off like Professor Dumbledore told you to."

Through the glass of the mirror, Remus saw a tiny smile twinge at Sirius' lips.  "You know me," he said.  "Abnormal as they come."

"Right--"  The rustle came again.  "--and twice as stubborn."

With a chuckle, the tension in the room bled to almost nothing, and Remus drew back to his hiding place to await the boys' departure.  It wouldn't do, after all, for Sirius and James to find out that he'd been spying on them, even if it had been mostly unintentional.  If they had actually been serious about letting him eat with them, then to mess that up now would--

His thoughts broke off as he realized that neither James nor Sirius had said a word in several moments.  Eyes wide, he leaned down, gripping the wall to support himself, and peered underneath the door to see if he'd somehow missed their leaving . . . 

. . . and found himself staring directly into a pair of dark, narrowed brown eyes.  

"There _is_ someone in here," Sirius said quietly, not moving from where he crouched on the floor; his eyes stayed locked on a very startled Remus.  "It's Lupin."       

~*~

He had little choice, now, but to open the door and come out.  Cheeks bright with shame, he slid the bolt out of place and pushed the door open, making sure Sirius had moved before doing so.  James stared at him in shock as he emerged, as if he'd suspected Sirius of lying to him, but retained the look only a moment before letting it fade into a smile.

"What're you doing hiding in there?" he asked good-naturedly, raking a hand through his unruly black hair.  Abruptly, his expression changed to one of barely-contained malice.  "Those Slytherins weren't bothering you again, were they?"

Remus shook his head, hardly daring to speak.  The mirror showed a pathetic figure, dwarfed by the other two boys; he was pale and short, his light brown hair hanging in limp tufts around his face, his eyes wide and fearful.  With some effort, he forced a bit of strength into his expression, and after a deep breath, finally managed to speak.

"Sorry, I was...I-I didn't mean to eavesdrop.  I just . . . I come in here sometimes when I need to be alone, and--"  His eyes fell to the floor.  "Sorry."

He could feel Sirius' dark eyes boring into him, but didn't lift his gaze from the stone.  His heart was thundering in his chest, his hands clenched together in front of him; this was it.  Any minute now, Sirius would turn away in disgust and storm out of the lavatory.  Any minute now, one of them would make fun of him, or yell at him, or do _something_ that would forever end any chance of him having friends at Hogwarts.  Any minute now.

Something warm thudded onto his shoulder.  Startled, he wrestled his gaze up from the floor and found Sirius standing just beside him, one of those large, strong hands gripping his shoulder.  

"If you want to be alone," he said seriously, "then we'll leave.  But if you want to eat . . ."  He grinned.  "--then we've got a spot saved for you in the dining hall."  
  


As if cued by these words, his stomach gave a low, churning rumble; he clapped his hands over his middle and blushed.

"Ahhh..."

James and Sirius laughed.

"Well," said Sirius, drawing his arm around Remus' shoulders and starting to guide him to the door, "I'd say we have our answer."

Finding himself suddenly pressed to the taller boy's side, Remus could do nothing but allow himself to be led.  Sirius' arm was firm and warm, making him feel strangely secure, and the taller boy smelled strongly of the school soap.  There was another scent to him, however, rising above the sharp, vaguely-floral scent of the soap--he doubted any normal person would've been able to detect it, but his heightened sense of smell did so immediately.

Sirius was sweating.  And as the school's temperature was kept low enough to avoid the heavy robes suffocating anyone, there could be only one reason for such perspiration:  Sirius was nervous about something.  For a moment, Remus let himself think that perhaps this was all some colossal joke, that Sirius and James were leading him to derision and humiliation back in the dining hall, but he dismissed the thought almost immediately.

No.  No, neither of them had known he was in the stall when they entered, and Sirius had seemed geniunely concerned about him.  This wasn't a joke.

But then, what was bothering Sirius?  

All such thoughts bled from his mind, however, as they paused at the lavatory door, Sirius' fingers stretching for the knob--and it swung open by itself.

Sirius growled deep in his throat, and James' usually-cheery smile went positively icy.

Standing on the other side of the door, straight blond hair tugged severely back from his forehead, was Lucius Malfoy.  He was flanked by two Slytherin boys, both of them round and dull-eyed, their cheeks still soaked with sauce from lunch.  Malfoy gave a chill smile.

"Well, well," he said, the words seeming to slither from his lips.  "The lovers are reunited at last."

Sirius gave a start and jerked his arm back from Remus' shoulders; the scent of sweat from him grew suddenly stronger.  "Shut up, Malfoy," he spat.  "Just because your parents don't hug you enough is no reason to take it out on us."

Lucius' eyes grew very narrow, his fists clenching at his sides.  "You would do well not to speak of my parents again," he hissed.  "I won't have you dirtying their names with that filthy, common tongue of yours.  Now, kindly move out of the way.  I don't see what you're doing in here, anyway, when there's a perfectly good girls' lavatory just down the hall."

Sirius made to lunge at him, but James caught him by the shoulder; once the taller boy had stopped struggling and no longer looked so murderous, James released him and levelled a cool stare at Malfoy.  "One of these days, Malfoy," he said mildly, "I won't be here to hold him back."

Lucius lifted his slender shoulders.  "If he touches me, my father will arrange for him to be expelled."  
  


"Some things," Sirius growled, "are worth getting expelled for."

Remus gave a tight smile.  Despite Lucius' features remaining smooth and untouched by emotion, he was most definitely sweating now.  

"Well, anyway," James said with some of his usual buoyancy, "we'd best be getting back to lunch,  but it was just _splendid_ running into you, Malfoy."

Malfoy said nothing, striding in through the door with the two other boys lapping at his heels like puppies; despite Remus hurrying out of the way, the blond boy still managed to ram a shoulder into him as he passed.  Remus went staggering backwards, terrified for a moment that he was going to end up on his back on the floor, humiliated in front of his new friends--

--but something stopped him.  Startled, finding himself suspended at an odd angle, he tilted his chin up--and found Sirius' dark eyes staring back.  He gathered the other boy had somehow maneuvered himself to catch him as he fell, but why he would risk such a thing so near to Malfoy's cold, knowing stares he had no idea.  He was beginning to think that perhaps there was more to Sirius Black than he'd first thought.

"Come on," Sirius muttered, not loosening his grip until Remus had managed to regain his balance.  "Let's get out of here.  This place is already starting to stink of Slytherin."

"And it's nearly time for dessert," James added cheerfully.

Sirius gave his friend a tight-lipped grin, heaving the lavatory door open; he held it there until Remus and James had both stepped through it, then followed.  "Right.  That, too."

~*~End Chapter One~*~

**Notes:**

**_December 6, 2002:_**  Chapter 2 is currently finished, but I'll be waiting a few days before posting it.  Until then, however, please feel free to leave a review and let me know what you think.  And now, to give you a taste of what's to come, here's a little preview of chapter 2:

~*~Chapter 2:  Transformations~*~

_"Voldemort."  The name slipped from his lips before he gave a thought to it; James' head jerked to look at him, eyes going wide, and even Sirius looked shocked._

_"Wh--"  The two boys exchanged worried glances; James led him to the bed and urged him to sit down.  "What?"_

_"Voldemort," Remus repeated.  He felt strange.  There was a ringing in his ears, as if his eardrums were still recovering from the explosion, and a chill sweat had broken out on his skin.  "This . . . this is his doing.  I know it is."_

~Ryuen


	2. II Transformations

[Remus: Chapter 2]

_II.  Transformations_  

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, legs dangling limply over the side, when Sirius burst in. 

Classes were over for the day, and despite the rumbling of his stomach, he was skipping dinner so as to be safely away from Hogwarts by the time the full moon slid into view.  Finding himself with twenty minutes before he was to report to Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing, he'd decided to return to the dormitory to gather some things.  A werewolf's sharp claws and teeth were a risk to cloth, but he liked to have his mother's quilt with him when he transformed; the floors were ice-cold to sleep on, and somehow, having the quilt with him made him feel as if he retained a sliver of his humanity.  It was wrapped around his shoulders now, warm like the arms of the woman who had made it, and he did not cast it off as the door swung open.

"Remus," Sirius gasped.

Carefully, he drew his gaze to the figure in the doorway.  It had been a little less than a month since he, Sirius, James, and Peter had become friends; in that short time, the four of them had grown extremely close, and although Remus was terrified to face the day when his secret would tear them apart, he couldn't help relishing the close relationship they shared.  

Armed with that friendship, he knew immediately that something had happened; Sirius stood there panting, bracing himself against the door frame.  His hair was messier than usual, hanging in uneven tangles that just brushed his shoulders, and his eyes were dark and wild.  

Frowning, Remus hopped down from the bed and took a step towards his friend.  "Sirius?  What's wrong?"  
  


For a moment, he was truly afraid, certain that someone had died or been injured or something just as awful--but then Sirius managed to catch his breath, and as he did so, a wide and wicked grin spread over his lips.  

"It's Malfoy," he said joyously.  "He turned himself into a bloody toad!  He was trying to show off his transfiguration to those idiot goons of his at dinner, and it backfired."  Sirius laughed, bending at the waist and hugging his stomach, and Remus could only watch in astonishment; he couldn't remember _ever_ having seen the other boy so out of control with mirth before.  

He opened his mouth to comment, a small smile tugging at his lips--but stopped, a new thought drawing an astonished frown onto his face.  In his startlement, he spoke the words instead of merely thinking them: "You...you came all the way up here so you could tell me that?" 

The laughter faded off, and Sirius spent a moment blinking at him, a slight flush creeping into his cheeks.  Then he smiled, brushing a long strand of hair out of his eyes, and wrapped an affectionate arm around the smaller boy's neck.  "Sure I did," he said, still smiling.  "You're leaving soon to visit your mum, aren't you?"

"Y-Yeah.  In about ten minutes."

"Well," Sirius said, grinning and releasing him from the hasty embrace, "I couldn't let you leave without telling you about Malfoy, could I?  I'd never have forgiven myself."

Despite the little voice in his head warning that this could never last, that the moment Sirius found out that he was a werewolf he would flee in disgust and fear, Remus couldn't help but smile.  "Thanks," he said sincerely, giving himself one warm moment to pretend that this friendship would endure.  Then, imagining Lucius Malfoy's smug face small and green, he grinned.  "I wish I could've been there to see it."  
  


"Oh, don't worry about that.  Robert Creevy was there."  
  


Remus shook his head, uncomprehending.

"Robert's obsessed with photography," the taller boy explained.  "He also happens to think Malfoy's the biggest jerk in the school.  He got _lots_ of pictures."  

~*~

He arrived at the hospital wing several minutes late, mainly because Sirius had insisted on walking him to the front entrance to "wait for his ride."  The other boy had wanted to stay there with him until that ride actually _arrived_, but Remus had at last managed to convince him that it wasn't necessary.  Now, he found himself out of breath and exhausted, having covered most of the distance between the entrance and the hospital wing at a careful but brisk walk; he had only one hour left before the night's transformation.

Madam Pomfrey wagged her finger at him as he skidded through the door.

"Mr. Lupin," she said with a hint of disapproval.  "I was afraid I was going to have to scour the castle for you.  Very well, are you ready?"

He nodded, his mother's quilt wrapped tight around his shoulders.

She studied him for a moment, disapproval fading to the expression she often assumed when looking at him:  motherly pity.  _Oh, the poor little dear!_ her features seemed to cry.  _So small, to have to go through this every month_.  

He sighed and wondered if that growth spurt would be long in coming.

"All right, then," Madam Pomfrey continued, folding her hands onto her hips.  "You wait right here and I'll be back in a moment.  If I don't have my wand, that willow will whomp us into next week."

Remus gave a weary nod and sat down on a nearby bed.  It wasn't until Madam Pomfrey's footsteps had receded to almost nothing that he realized he was not alone.

There was a creak of mattress springs from a few beds down; startled, he turned in that direction, mentally scrambling to remember if Pomfrey had said anything that might clue whoever it was in to his secret . . . 

He was just in time to watch a curtain, which had been ringing one of the beds towards the other end of the wing, slide back to admit the pale, smooth-featured face of Lucius Malfoy.  

Even over the distance that separated them, Remus could see that Malfoy was less than his usual confident self; his blond hair had been torn from its tie and hung messily around his face, and despite the boy apparently having completely regained human form, his skin still had a slight greenish tinge to it.  For a moment, they stared at each other.

Remembering Sirius' spirited telling of Malfoy's transformation, Remus couldn't help a small smile.  He was astonished when, "You're looking a little green, Lucius," murmured from his lips.

Malfoy's eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open comically.  "You .  . . you . . . Lupin, you--"  
  


"Lucius Malfoy!" came Madam Pomfrey's sudden shout, ringing through the wing at several times its original volume.  "Are you still here?  I told you, there is nothing I can do to remove those warts until we get in another shipment of pokewood roots, so I'm afraid you will _just have to live with them until then!"_

Malfoy went an intriguing shade of pink, glaring at the woman as she bustled into view.  

"You had better not still be here when I get back," Pomfrey warned.  "Come, Lupin."

Hiding a smile beneath his hand, Remus hopped off the bed and started for the door.  Madam Pomfrey was already in the corridor and moving fast; he drew a deep breath and charged after her.  If the nurse maintained this pace, he thought darkly, there would be no reason for him to even bother trekking to the shack--he would be passed out for his entire transformation.

As he jogged down the hallway, holding the quilt in place with one hand while the other swung rhythmically at his side, he couldn't help thinking of his friends.  Often, in that glorious stretch of time after classes but before sunset, he would sit beneath a tree, a book cradled in his hands, and just watch them.  They raced from one end of the castle lawn to the other, tackling each other, racing, pitching various objects back and forth until their hands were raw.  He had longed more than once to be a part of their games, to not be so weak and frail--but he knew it was one wish that could never be granted.  

It was a side-effect, the specialists had said, of being so young when he was bitten; his body was incapable of handling the transformation properly at such an early stage of development, and as a result, there was a good chance he would always tire easily, would always be incapable of running very far, and might take twice as long to recover from illnesses as a normal person.  So far, the specialists had been correct on all counts; he only prayed that their last prediction, that he might be likely to die young as a result of his weakened state, would be the first to be proved wrong.

Pomfrey was far ahead of him and just about to vanish around a corner.  His lungs were already burning, the breath wheezing painfully through his throat; left with no other choice, he staggered to a halt and leaned against the wall.  Dizzy and out of breath, he closed his eyes.  It was a few minutes before he heard the rapid tap-tap-tap of Pomfrey's high-heeled boots returning.  

He wanted nothing more than to push back the fatigue and charge bravely onward, to sprint through the corridors like a normal eleven-year-old and leave Pomfrey gasping in his dust.  All he could do, however, was sink weakly to the floor, still not quite able to catch his breath, and fend off the waves of dizziness as they rolled over him.  

"Lupin?"  Pomfrey's purposeful footsteps slowed and finally stopped; he imagined her standing just a few feet down the corridor, hands on her hips, features screwed up in puzzlement.  "Lupin, where on earth did you--oh."  There was a slight pause; he didn't dare open his eyes, afraid the corridor would still be swaying wildly.  "Oh!" she cried suddenly.  "Right . . ."  Her voice, struggling between sternness and apology, came out sounding rather muddled.  "Right, Professor Dumbledore _did_ mention something about you tiring easily as a result of . . . well, you know."  He heard a rustle of cloth very nearby, and a moment later caught a whiff of strong, musky perfume.  Something warm touched his cheek.  "Lupin.  Remus.  Can you hear me?"

He nodded, keeping his eyes shut tightly.  He could feel the dizziness passing, and his breathing had almost returned to normal, but he felt safer in the cool darkness.  He sincerely hoped Malfoy had not chosen this moment to leave the hospital wing; the Slytherins would be mocking him until he graduated if they found out how truly, pathetically weak he was.  He felt an angry prickle of tears against his eyelids, but fought them back with all his strength.  

"We--"  Pomfrey sounded a bit nervous.  "We really should get you to where you need to be going soon.  There isn't much time left.  And you know it takes at least thirty minutes to walk the tunnels--longer for you, I'd imagine."  
  


With a small sigh, Remus opened his eyes.  She was right, of course, and no matter how desperately he would've liked to hide here beneath the darkness of his eyelids all night, praying that _this time_, _this month_, the moon would miraculously fail to affect him, he knew what needed to be done.  Stretching out an arm, he let himself be pulled to his feet by Madam Pomfrey, who was now peering at him as if she longed to burst into tears and hug him until the breath was squeezed from his body.  

Remus took a small and definite step away from her, wondering what it was about himself that could change such a stern woman into a teary nurturer.

"Do you feel up to walking?" she asked suddenly.  "I could draw up a stretcher if you need one.  Or--"  Her eyes twinkled.  "I could carry you."  
  


Remus felt his cheeks warming.  "No," he said, somehow managing to keep his tone polite.  Dear God, what would the Slytherins think if they saw _that??  _"I can walk."

Pomfrey looked vaguely disappointed, but recovered quickly; with a tight smile, she started off down the corridor again, this time taking long, exaggeratedly-slow strides.  Fearing it might take all of the remaining hour to reach the Whomping Willow at this speed, Remus walked ahead of her and set a slightly quicker pace, which she had no choice but to subscribe to; about ten minutes later, they stood at the edge of the castle grounds, staring up at the quivering, swaying limbs of the Whomping Willow.  A few words and a swing of Madam Pomfrey's wand depressed the button that froze the tree into inactivity, and Remus started for the tunnel entrance.

Pomfrey caught his arm as he passed, sniffling and murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like "brave little soldier" before letting go.  Once she had, he crawled over a large root and slipped into the dark, depressing length of the tunnel.  He only barely reached the shack before he began to transform.

~*~

He didn't return to class until three days later.  During his time as a wolf, he had very nearly gnawed his right arm to the bone, and the rest of his body was covered with self-inflicted scrapes and bruises.  Due to the fact that he was still "visiting his mother," it was impossible for him to stay in the hospital wing to recover, and thus he was forced to spend that additional time in the shack.  Dumbledore stopped by to visit him every now and then, always bringing some food and a book from his private collection, and Madam Pomfrey visited even more frequently than that.    

Finally, however, he was declared well enough to return to class, and with one of the school coaches to drive him to the front door--as Dumbledore thought this would be less conspicuous, particularly if some student happened to witness his return--he found himself back at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It felt good, being back inside the castle, but he couldn't help but feel like something was missing.  It wasn't until he crawled back into Gryffindor tower and heard the laughter of James and Sirius echoing from upstairs that he realized why that was.

For the first time since the werewolf's bite two years earlier, he had friends--_good_ friends--and like it or not, he had missed them.  With a genuine smile, Remus mounted the stairs to the dorm, slinging the slightly-tattered quilt over one shoulder, and started upwards.  

He had only made it about a third of the way up when something exploded.

The common room, which had been a bustle of talk and activity moments earlier, went so abruptly, chillingly silent that for a heart-stopping moment, Remus was sure he'd gone deaf.  Gradually, he became aware that he _could _hear--the echoes of the explosion, wherever and whatever it had been, were still ringing off distant hills, and very far away, he thought he could hear the sound of someone yelling, as well as the crash of crumbling stone.  And then the door several feet above him creaked open, and suddenly everyone was talking at once.

"What _was_ that?"

"Do you think everyone's all right?"  
  


"What if the castle's under siege??"

"I bet one of the Potions labs blew up!"  
  


"Do you think classes will be cancelled?"

"What if they send us home before Ravenclaw match??"

Above the din, he heard Sirius' bellow:  "Remus!"

He turned slightly-dazed eyes upwards, and found Sirius and James beckoning him from the top of the stairs; numb and confused, he obeyed, and soon found himself standing between them in the boys' dormitory, the rapid jumble of voices swimming through his head.  He longed to clamp his hands over ears, to hush the world so he could focus, but at the same time,  he found himself strangely unable to speak or move.  Something was wrong, and although he didn't understand how, he could _feel_ that it had to do with darkest of evils.  And if it had to do with evil, then there was a good chance that it had to do with...

"Voldemort."  The name slipped from his lips before he gave a thought to it; James' head jerked to look at him, eyes going wide, and even Sirius looked shocked.

"Wh--"  The two boys exchanged worried glances; James led him to the bed and urged him to sit down.  "What?"

"Voldemort," Remus repeated.  He felt strange.  There was a ringing in his ears, as if his eardrums were still recovering from the explosion, and a chill sweat had broken out on his skin.  "This . . . this is his doing.  I know it is."  
  


A hand touched his forehead; he looked up to see Sirius standing just in front of him, the boy's fingers held lightly to his brow.  "You don't have a fever," he said, sounding puzzled.  "But you're all pale, and you're shivering.  James, get a blanket, would you?"

The dark-haired boy had just done so, drawing the comforter from his own bed and helping Sirius get it around Remus' shoulders, when they heard Professor McGonagall's sharp voice from downstairs.

"Quiet," she said.  "Quiet, everyone.  Is everyone down here?"  At that last, the three of them shuffled to the door and stared down; nearly every Gryffindor stood still and silent in the common room, their eyes locked on McGonagall's stern, abnormally-pale face.  "I am here to tell you all to please not panic.  There has been a minor accident in one of the downstairs labs--"  
  


"I _knew_ it!" one boy whispered loudly.  

"--but no one was badly injured, and we will be working on getting that lab rebuilt as soon as possible.  For now, however--"  Her voice went sharper than usual, and her eyes seemed to bore into each and every student individually.  "--I must ask that you all remain here, in the dormitory, and not venture outside for _any reason_.  We will alert you when it is safe to emerge.  Are there any questions?"

One girl raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Evans?"

"Professor, you...you said no one was _badly_ injured."  The girl sounded a bit hesitant; her long red hair hung in tufts about her face, concealing most of it from view.  "Does that mean that...that someone _was_ injured?"

McGonagall's eyes narrowed slightly--then she sighed, giving a slight and weary nod.  "Yes, Lily; unfortunately, there were a few injuries.  Professor Iodan was working next door at the time of the explosion, and was struck by a falling beam."  She cast a stern gaze at the assemblage, although none of them had said a word.  "But let me assure you, she will be _fine_.  She is in good hands, and Madam Pomfrey has every confidence that she'll be back to teaching Potions in no time at all.  Anything else?"

The same girl--Lily Evans, Remus pieced together--raised her hand again.

McGonagall cast her a level stare.  "Yes, Miss Evans?  What is it now?"  
  


"Professor, what about...the other people who were injured?  I-It's just that you said there was more than one, and...well, Professor, were any _students_ hurt?"  
  


McGonagall frowned slightly, long fingers smoothing absently at her robes; then a look of grim acceptance came over her face, and she drew her eyes out over the crowd.

"Well," she said quietly, "I suppose you'd have all discovered this eventually, so there's no reason to withhold it from you now.  One student _was_ injured, and I'm afraid...I'm afraid he was from Gryffindor house."  
  


"_Was_??" someone shrieked in the sudden silence.  "I-Is he dead??"  
  


McGonagall's mouth fell open; the Gryffindors all began talking at once, glancing around themselves as if trying to figure out who was missing--some of them were already in tears, and one girl promptly curled herself into a corner, knees to her chest, and started rocking.  Remus looked to Sirius and James in alarm, but before he could ask the question that was burning in his mind--_Where's Peter?_--McGonagall raised her wand, spoke an incantation, and a great whip-crack snapped through the room.

The students fell silent immediately.  With order restored, McGonagall cleared her throat.

"I apologize," she said in a loud voice.  "It was a poor choice of words.  No one has died, least of all a student.  The boy who was injured received nothing more severe than a slight burn to his arm--Madam Pomfrey will have him up and about within the hour.  Now, if you have no more questions--"  Her gaze flickered to Lily Evans, one slim eyebrow raising.  "--then I will return to where I can do some good.  Again, I must stress that none of you leave here in my absence.  The repercussions will be far greater than I wager any of you are willing to contend with."

And with that, she spun on her heel and marched from the room, somehow managing to retain her dignity while crawling out through the portrait hole.  There was silence for a long time after the door swung closed behind her.

As a few low murmurs of conversation started up, Sirius ushered the other two boys back into the room and pushed the door shut.  "There has to be more to this than just an accidental explosion in a Potions lab," the tall boy said quietly.  

James nodded.  "There must be," he agreed.  "There's no way McGonagall would keep us locked up like this if that was really all there was to it."  There was a slight pause, then James grinned and hurried back over to his bed, which he promptly began to dig beneath.  The question had barely formed on Remus' lips before he emerged again, a shiny square of cloth clutched in his fingers.  "Well," he said cheerily, "guess there's only one thing for us to do."  
  


"Right," said Sirius with a tight grin.  "But do you really think all three of us are gonna fit under there?"

Despite the dark feelings still churning in his stomach, Remus eyed the shiny cloth curiously.  "What is it?"

James grinned proudly.  Before he would speak on it, however, he went from one end of the dormitory to the other, checking beneath beds and under blankets, and when that was done, insisted on hovering just beside Remus' ear.  "It's an invisibility cloak," he confided in a hushed voice.  "We found it the day after you left, stuffed behind a suit of armor in the third floor hallway."  
  


Remus blinked.  "It was just _lying_ there?"  The cloak, which now hung from James' fingers in long, glittering waves of fabric, smelled slightly musty, and unmistakably of cat hair.  Remus frowned.  "How do you know what it does?"

Exchanging a quick glance with Sirius, James winked and draped the cloak over his arm.  With nothing more dramatic than the hiss of the cloth sliding through the air, James' arm vanished from the elbow down.  Remus felt his mouth drop open.  

"Yeah," said James, grinning and tugging the cloak back from his arm.  "Sirius was carrying it like that down the hallway.  Just about had a heart attack when he looked down."

Sirius' cheeks went a little pink.  "Well, it's not everyday I look down and find my arm gone," he muttered.

"Anyway," James continued, still grinning, "that's when we figured out what it was.  We knew it had to have _some_ kind of magical properties to it--people don't usually go around stashing normal old cloaks behind suits of armor.  And now that we know what it does . . . "  His blue eyes sparkled.  "Well, I say we do some exploring.  Find out what's really going on."  
  


Sirius nodded.  "Right.  And if it _was_ Peter . . . well, then maybe he can tell us something.  They're probably keeping him in the hospital wing until he--"

There was a sudden rattling sound from the door--Remus looked over just in time to see the knob starting to turn.  With a hiss of alarm, James sprinted across the room, vaulted over his bed, and slid out of view beneath it just as the door creaked open. 

"Peter!" Sirius exclaimed.

Peter Pettigrew stepped wearily into the room, his face pale and his right arm circled in bandages.  Remus glanced at them only briefly--they were of Madam Pomfrey's design, and were always doused with whatever potion would best heal the patient's infirmaries.  He himself had only this morning taken the last one from his arm, leaving nothing but a thick, shiny scar near his elbow.

"Hi," Peter said tiredly.  His short brown hair was sticking up places, mostly towards the back, and the tips were black with soot.  He slid forward and collapsed onto his bed.  "You guys," he sighed, "will not _believe_ what just happened to me."

~*~End Chapter Two~*~

**Notes:**

**_December 9, 2002:  _**Huuuuge thanks to the fifteen people who reviewed chapter one:  InchySquinchy, jesusfreak7777777, Wandering Nobodies, Vireco, Skittles, WildfireFriendship, elmtree, Purple Mouse (Mouse-chaaaaan! ^_~.), evil spapple pie, Kats, Yakyou, NuriKitsune, moi, Elkat, and Flying Heart!  Thanks _so_ much; your reviews provided a lot of encouragement and have helped me to charge on forward so that I'm now about to the middle of chapter 4.  I'll be posting Chapter 3 in a few days, so keep a watch out! ^_~.  And now, here's a preview of that chapter:

_~*~Chapter 3:  The Plight of the Werewolf~*~_

_He had been sitting curled in the chair, legs to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees--only now, too late, did he realize that that posture had drawn the right sleeve of his robe back to the elbow, revealing the patchwork of scars there that shone like silvery threads in the firelight.  Sirius was staring at those scars now, his eyes dark and startled, his mouth working without sound, and although of course the damage had already been done, Remus hurriedly pushed the sleeve back into place._

_When Sirius finally spoke, his voice was very low, and oddly, tremulously calm.  "Who did that to you, Remus?"_

~Ryuen


	3. III The Plight of the Werewolf

[Remus:  Chapter 3]

~*~

_III. The Plight of the Werewolf_

"Iodan was making me make up that quiz I missed--you know, the one about color-changing potions?"  Peter was lying on his side on the bed, head propped against his hand; Sirius, James, and Remus sat perched on the edge of Remus' mattress, listening to the tale with rapt attention.  "Well," Peter continued, "about halfway through, Iodan realized that there wasn't enough marshweed powder, so she went down the hall to get some more.  While I was waiting there for her to get back, though, I saw somebody run past the door.  They were _really_ running, too--I couldn't even make out who it was, they went by so fast.  Anyway, so I went out into the corridor to check it out, and I only made it a little way down the hallway when one of the labs blew up."  
  


Sirius and James glanced at each other; their eyes were wide, showing whites all around.  

"What happened then?" James breathed.

Peter sat up, clasping a hand over his bandaged arm as if it had suddenly begun to pain him.  "The blast knocked me down," he said, speaking in low, whispery tones as if telling a ghost story.  "When I got up, Iodan was yelling, and my arm was . . .  Well, I guess the blast broke a lot of vials, because there were chemicals seeping out all over the hallway floor, and some acid got on my arm.  It ate right through my robes.  Pomfrey said that . . . that if I hadn't gotten up when I did . . . "  

He shook his head, and for a moment, there was no sound but the muffled rumble of voices from the common room.  

"Anyway, Iodan was pretty banged up.  I heard Madam Pomfrey tell Dumbledore that it might be _weeks_ before she can teach class again."  
  


"So it wasn't an accident," Remus heard himself murmur. 

Peter shook his head solemnly.  "I don't think so.  McGonagall told me not to tell anybody what I saw, since I guess she's afraid kids are gonna panic if they find out . . . but, hey."  He grinned.  "I had to tell you guys."  
  


They sat in silence for a few moments, brows twisted up in thought.  It was James who finally broke the silence, turning to Sirius with a thoughtful frown on his face.

"What do you think?  Think we should still check it out with the invisibility cloak?"  
  


Before Sirius could respond, however, Peter shook his head.  "You can't.  McGonagall's left all the paintings with instructions to start howling if any students go by.  And even if that cloak _does_ work, you can't get out into the hallway, because the portrait hole's all sealed up.  It won't open except from the outside until McGonagall takes off whatever spell she put on it."  
  


James, reluctant to admit defeat, shrugged his slim shoulders.  "We could always hide by the door with the cloak on, wait for somebody to open it from the outside and then slip out."  
  


Sirius shook his head.  "No.  It's not worth it.  What if somebody bumped into us?  Or what if we didn't get the whole way out the portrait hole before it closed?  And what about getting back in?  We should stay here.  Besides, there's probably not much else to find out that Peter hasn't already told us."  

That said, Sirius shifted his gaze to Remus, a touch of concern twingeing at his expression.  "How're you feeling, Remus?  Any better?"

Suddenly finding his friends' attention focused on him, he gave a little start and nodded.  He _was_ feeling better; he was no longer shivering, and although that sense of evil still plodded darkly through the back of his mind, he felt stronger with his friends around him.  "I'm okay," he said firmly.  "I guess I was just a little shaken up."

"_You_ were," said Peter with a bark of laughter.  "I thought I was bloody _dead_."

They all laughed, and Remus felt the tension drain from his shoulders.  No matter who or what might have caused the explosion, there was nothing any of them could do about it now.  Clearing his throat, he hopped down from the bed and went to the window.  A light October rain was falling, trickling down over the panes and making the world outside seem blurry and dim.  

"Well," said James brightly, "as long as we're stuck in here, we may as well make the most of it."  
  


Sirius raised an eyebrow.  "What've you got in mind?"

~*~

Two hours and seventeen games of Exploding Snap later, McGonagall reappeared with a welcome announcement.

"Professor Dumbledore has decided that it is now safe for you students to enter the halls again--but please," she said sharply, as a sudden roar of voices threatened to drown her out, "avoid visiting the site of the accident or even venturing downstairs at all.  Additionally, until Professor Iodan is out of the hospital wing, all Potions classes will be converted to study halls, to be served in the library.  Oh."  Her thin lips curled into a smile.  "And it is time to eat."

A cheer rang through the common room, and immediately, the students began to clump towards the portrait hole, talking so loudly that Remus longed to press his hands to his overly-sensitive ears.  Sirius must have noticed him wincing, because the boy placed a hand on his shoulder, peering at his face in concern.

"I forgot to ask you," he said over the din.  "How's your mum?"  
  


They had been walking down the stairs, attempting to merge into the bustling crowd below; Remus stumbled at the question, just barely managing to catch himself on the banister.  "Ah--"  He tossed Sirius a slightly sheepish smile over one shoulder.  "She's fine.  She's . . . she's doing better."  
  


Sirius frowned a little, but then nodded.  "That's good.  You were gone for longer than you said you would be, so . . . well, we thought maybe something had happened."  
  


They had been friends for a month, and yet still, hearing that touch of concern to Sirius' voice sent a tingle up Remus' spine. It seemed so strange, to _finally_ have people he could count on, to _finally_ have people who would stand by him no matter what might--

The thoughts broke off, and something cold and painful settled in his stomach.

He was just deluding himself, wasn't he?  He was a werewolf.  A _werewolf_.  No matter how kind Sirius and James and Peter were to him now, if they were to find out . . . if they were to realize what a monster he truly was . . . they would leave.  They would desert him, just as the boys who had been with him when he was bitten had.  At the start, of course, they'd been fascinated by him:  how often was it that a child got a chance to be friends with a real life, honest to goodness werewolf?  But that had worn off quickly, and one by one, his "friends" had left him for stabler, more normal children.  He had been left all alone.  

_It is the plight of the werewolf_, one of the thousand books he'd read on the subject had said, _to be always and inevitably alone.  They are shunned by those who do not understand, and feared and reviled by those who do.  It is, indeed, in the werewolf's best interest to be slain early, as a life led in that sort of misery is really no life at all._

He had never allowed himself to believe those words before.  Now, realizing how attached he had become to his new friends, and how truly agonizing it would be when he lost them, he wasn't so sure.  Was it really worth it, pretending that he could be a normal boy when it was so clear that he was not?  Was it really worth it, putting himself through this again and again, suffering the heartache and the loss until his weakened body finally just . . . gave out?  

He and Sirius had reached the common room floor; heart clenching suddenly in his chest, he spun and pushed past the taller boy, starting back up the stairs.  Peter and James were already far ahead of them, just about to crawl out through the portrait hole.

Sirius frowned after him.  "Remus?"

"I-I'm not feeling well," he called, gripping the banister tightly to tug himself up the stairs.  "I think I'll just go to sleep . . . "  
  


He didn't wait for Sirius' reaction.  Heartbeat thrumming in his ears, he reached the top of the stairs, hurried into the dormitory, and pushed the door shut behind him.  His breath was coming in harsh gasps, a result of the exertion of racing up the stairs, and his heart seemed in danger of pounding right through his rib cage.  He knew that he was overreacting, that there was really no point in trying to avoid the eventual heartache, because it would come.  It would _always_ come, and even if it might be easier to push away his friends, doing so would only make _now_ less pleasant, when really, it was only _later_ that needed to be so.

. . . still.  He really was feeling ill.  Although he had hurt himself many times before while in wolf form--the scars that lined the flesh beneath his robes were proof enough of that--he couldn't remember ever having caused such a savage wound.  Despite being healed, his arm still throbbed occasionally, and the rusty scent of his own blood still swam sickeningly in his nostrils.  

He collapsed onto his bed, drawing a pillow up over his head and trying to shut out the world.  He barely noticed when the tears began to fall, but for the moisture that was suddenly on his cheeks, and when the sobs came, they were ragged and soundless; all he could do was weather through them.  

~*~

It was still dark when he woke.  All around him were the warm, sleepy sounds of the other boys--the soft hiss of breath, the rustle of blankets, the occasional dreamy murmur.  And . . .

His eyes snapped open, staring out into the darkness as a new sound met his ears.

It was very soft; he doubted he'd have picked up on it at all had he possessed the ears of a normal eleven-year-old.  But there it was, all the same, and after how many times he himself had wakened from nightmares, breath coming as raggedly as this, he couldn't bring himself to ignore it.  No.  Someone was in pain--someone needed waking.

Frowning into the starlit darkness, Remus pushed the blankets back from his body and slipped out of bed; the floor was maddeningly cold beneath his toes, but he paid no attention, and a moment later was creeping towards the sound as silently as if on a hunt.  _Gasp-gasp-gasp_--a new sound joined the harsh intake of breath:  a low moan, almost a sob, that froze Remus in his tracks as effectively as if he'd been Petrified.  

It was Sirius.

Dismissing the need for silence, Remus hurried to the taller boy's bedside and stood beside it, chest clenching painfully as his heightened night vision brought the scene into focus.  

Sirius lay on his back in the bed, blankets tangled around his legs, fingers clenched so tightly to the sides of the mattress that his knuckles had turned white.  His features were twisted in anguish and fear, his head shaking back and forth, back and forth, as if vehemently denying whatever it was his dreams were showing him, his entire body trembling beneath the weight of that denial.  The moans sliding from his lips grew increasingly more desperate as the seconds ticked by.

Knowing that Sirius would be mortified if any of the other boys saw him in such a state, Remus lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress and reached for his friend's shoulder.  Just as his fingers grew near to it, however, the taller boy began to thrash, twisting away, arms flying into the air as if to fend off an attacker.

Remus leaped up from the mattress just in time to avoid being punched.  Sirius' moans had turned to words, now, and low and muddled as they were, Remus could make out every one.

"Mum . . . no . . . please . . . _no_ . . ."

Features tensing in determination, Remus sank down onto the mattress again and--ducking carefully around Sirius' flailing limbs--leaned over the other boy until he could get one hand on each shoulder.  Once he had, he pushed with all his strength, shoving Sirius flat onto the mattress, and said, in one quick, sharp whisper:  

"Sirius.  _Wake.  Up._"

Sirius stopped struggling so abruptly that Remus nearly lost his balance.  Once he was no longer in danger of toppling to the side, he brought his eyes back to Sirius and found that the other boy's features were smoothing, his thrashing limbs now resting, limp, at his sides.  Relieved, Remus sat back, carefully removing his hands from his friend's shoulders as he did so, and started to stand up.  If he could get back to his bed before Sirius regained consciousness, then the taller boy would never have to know his part in this, and would certainly never have to know that he'd seen him beneath the nightmare's hold.  He was just turning away, ready to creep back to bed, when Sirius' voice stopped him.

"Remus?"  
  


Shoulders stiffening, he turned back.  Sirius' eyes were open now, gazing up at him in confusion--but it was a very conscious kind of confusion, and certainly not one that could be tricked into thinking his presence merely a sleep-inspired hallucination.  Sighing, Remus lowered himself again to the mattress beside Sirius, keeping his voice soft so anyone else who might have woken wouldn't overhear.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.  "You were having a nightmare."  
  


Sirius stared up at him for a few lengthy seconds, flecks of starlight swimming in his eyes, saying nothing.  Despite there being no logical reason for such a reaction, Remus was suddenly terrified that Sirius was going to be angry with him.  It might, after all, have been an affront to the taller boy's pride, for someone to have witnessed him in such a weakened state . . .but of course, if he _hadn't_ woken Sirius, the entire dormitory might have witnessed it.  Did Sirius realize that?  Or would he forget such minor details in the face of this obvious invasion of his privacy?  

Remus swallowed, telling himself firmly that he was overthinking things again, and waited as Sirius gathered breath to speak.

"Did I . . . "  The boy's brow was deeply creased, and he seemed to be having difficulty forming the words.  "Did I _say_ anything, Remus?" 

There was a need to Sirius' voice that he didn't understand; he inclined his head a little, choosing his words carefully.  "You . . .  said something about your mother.  That was all, though."

Sirius frowned, shaking his head as if this didn't make any sense at all--then he sat up and disentangled the blankets from his legs.  Without a word, he crawled from the bed and started for the door, and unsure of what else to do, Remus followed.  

As he pushed the dormitory door quietly closed behind him, Remus noticed that Sirius had reached the bottom of the stairs and was heading for the fireplace.  Once he reached it, the eleven-year-old folded his arms over his chest and sank into the tall, red leather arm chair that faced the flames.  

For a long moment, Remus stood there at the top of the stairs, staring at the tangles of dark hair visible over the top of the chair, and waited for something to happen.

He had always known Sirius to be something of a brooder; while James was unfailingly cheerful, and Peter prone to fits of wheezing giggles, Sirius--who _was_ inclined to his silly, happy-go-lucky moments--tended to subside into somber, seemingly unprovoked silences from time to time.  From what he had heard that day in the lavatory, as well as what he had pieced together over the last month, Remus knew that Sirius' father had recently passed away, and for some reason that Sirius himself didn't seem to understand, he blamed his mother.  This inexplicable placing of guilt seemed to drag at the dark-haired boy, and Remus couldn't help but wonder if perhaps that had extended into his dreams.  It would certainly explain what he had heard.

As it seemed Sirius would be perfectly content to sit in his chair all night, silent and swallowed up in whatever dark emotions were haunting him, Remus took a very deep breath and spoke.  

"Sirius?"  
  


There was a rustle, as of the other boy's head turning in his direction, but nothing else.  

Remus started to move cautiously down the stairs; his words were so soft that he wondered if Sirius could hear them at all.  "What were you dreaming about?"

And indeed, there was silence for such a long time that he thought that perhaps the other boy _hadn't_ heard, that he would either have to repeat himself or give up on this line of questioning altogether.  But then, just as he stepped from the last stair to the floor, Sirius cleared his throat.

"I don't know," he said in a low voice, and Remus thought he sounded more confused than angry.  "I can never remember."  There was a short pause.  "Do you remember, when you wake up from nightmares?"

Remus crossed the distance between them before answering; Sirius watched him, dark eyes swimming with reflected flames, as he settled himself into the other arm chair by the fire.  

Feeling ridiculously small in the huge chair, Remus brought his knees to his chest and studied his friend.  "I can remember," he admitted quietly.  The fire crackled suddenly beside them, a new log of wood materializing to replace the one that had just faded into ashes.  "But I suppose . . . I mean, it's probably different for different people."

Sirius was silent for a moment, presumably thinking that over.  

Then he said, very softly, "You were crying last night."  
  


Remus stared at him in shock and embarrassment, his back suddenly going very rigid.  "How did you--"  
  


"I saw you," Sirius said quietly.  "You didn't think I was just going to _leave_ after you ran off like that, did you?  I came up to see if you were all right."  Pause.  "Was it because of your mum?"

Remus looked away, hoping Sirius hadn't seen the flicker of anguish as it twisted his features.  What could he say?  How could he explain that it had never been about his mother at all, that he had been crying because of _him?_  Because of Sirius, James, Peter--his friends, and how heartbroken he was that he was going to have to lose them?  He swallowed, struggling to bring himself back under control; he wasn't sure what he was going to say until he drew breath to say it.

"It wasn't--" he began, but he never got to finish the sentence.

He had been sitting curled in the chair, legs to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees--only now, too late, did he realize that that posture had drawn the right sleeve of his robe back to the elbow, revealing the patchwork of scars there that shone like silvery threads in the firelight.  Sirius was staring at those scars now, his eyes dark and startled, his mouth working without sound, and although of course the damage had already been done, Remus hurriedly pushed the sleeve back into place.

Sirius stared at him for a long time, and then he stood up, circled the chair, and stopped just in front of the smaller boy.  Despite knowing what had to come next, Remus couldn't move; his muscles were frozen into inactivity, and he barely seemed to be breathing at all.  He could only watch as Sirius reached down and, with surprising gentleness, took one thin arm into his hands and slid back the sleeve.  Sirius gazed silently at the scars for a few moments, his eyes widening at the sight of the newest and largest, on the inside near the elbow.  Then, he released that arm and lifted the other, doing the same and finding the same.

Remus tried to swallow, but found his throat too dry.

When Sirius finally spoke, his voice was very low, and oddly, tremulously calm.  "Who did that to you, Remus?"

It startled him, how badly he wanted to tell Sirius the truth.  But in the end, common sense won out over silly, naïve desires, and he settled for a distanced version of the truth.  "A-A wolf."  
Sirius, clearly, had not been expecting such an answer; his lips bent in a frown, and from the crease in his brow, he was trying to decide whether to believe this or not.  "A wolf," he echoed.

"Yeah," Remus continued cautiously.  "I was . . . attacked.  A few years ago."

His heart was hammering painfully in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears.  What if Sirius figured it out?  What if that was enough, if that one word--_wolf_--was enough to bring all the clues together?  

Sirius was frowning, and for a breathless moment, Remus was sure that he _had_ figured it out, that now was the moment he'd been dreading since this friendship had begun--but he soon realized this was not the case.

"It's weird," Sirius said, and it sounded almost as if he were talking to himself.  "My mother--"  He lifted Remus' arm again, tracing a finger over the long, thick scar near the elbow.  "She was attacked by a wild dog--right after I was born.  Her arms are just like yours . . . "  
  


Abruptly seeming to realize what he was saying, as well as the fact that he was effectively caressing his friend's arm, Sirius took a quick step backwards.  His cheeks were scarlet.  "Er . . . sorry.  Anyway, ah . . . we should probably get back to bed . . . "  

_Her arms are just like yours . . ._

Struggling not to let his shock show, Remus leaned forward in the chair and let his feet drop to the floor so he could stand.  "Sirius," he called softly, and watched as the taller boy paused just short of the dormitory staircase.  "Can I ask you a . . . well, a sort of weird question?"  
  


The dark-haired boy's back went suddenly rigid, and when he turned around, there was a strange, closed expression on his face, as if he were doing his best to keep any hint of emotion from his features.  "Yeah?"

"Um . . ."  He swallowed, trying to think of a way to phrase his suspicions without sounding like he'd lost his mind.  Somehow, _Does your mother happen to disappear once a month and then come back looking like she's been in a fight? _didn't seem a viable choice; he was still straining for the correct phrasing when Sirius turned and started back up the stairs.

"Hey, uh . . . why don't we talk about this tomorrow morning?"  The dark-haired boy gave a forced yawn.  "I'm really tired, and. . . yeah.  So, I'll see ya at breakfast, Remus."

For a moment, he almost told Sirius to wait, but realized as he opened his mouth that he really had no idea how to ask what he needed to ask.  That, in addition to the fact that it _was_ possible to actually be attacked by a vicious dog--not all who claimed to such a story could be werewolves, after all--made him nod, a close-lipped smile drawing at his features.

"Good night, Sirius," he said.

Sirius paused, fingers drumming against the banister, and twisted his head to look back.  His dark hair, tousled from sleeping, clung to his neck and cheeks; with the firelight casting a shadow on his sharp, handsome features, he seemed ages older than eleven.  "Whatever it is," he said quietly, "you know you can tell us.  James and me, I mean.  And probably Peter."

Remus sighed, curling himself back up into the chair and wishing it were true.  "I know," he replied; the silent ache that had driven him to tears earlier was gnawing at his chest.  "Goodnight, Sirius."

After one last, evaluating glance, Sirius turned away climbed the last of the stairs; Remus had twisted to stare into the depths of the fire, watching the flames swarming over the blackening log through the iron mesh of the grate, so it was only by the click of the door closing that he knew Sirius was gone.

~*~End Chapter 3~*~

**Monday, December 16, 2002:  **Monstrous thanks and gifts of chocolate and roses to the nineteen reviewers of chapter 2:  Evil spapple pie, WildfireFriendship, Skittles, Bobbi (wai, thanks for reviewing!  I love your humor fics! ^__^.), Sagara Sanosuke (hi, Sano!), Lunatica, Camlost, Nimue, NK (thanks again for the artwork! ^_^.), Elusive Kat, Quinn (thank you so much for your long, thoughtful reviews! ^_^.), Nev, Fae, silent-wishes, Flying Heart, JaimynsFire, Meg, August DuMonte, and white owl!  *showers you all with gifts*   I appreciate your comments very much, and believe me, they really kept me going while I was suspended this last week! ^__^.  Anyway, here's a preview of chapter four, which will feature—at last—everyone's favorite nasty Potions master, Severus Snape—although, erm, he's not in the preview.  But he's in the chapter.  I promise. ^_~.

_~*~Chapter Four:  The Joining of the Houses~*~_

_He had been walking for perhaps five or six minutes, taking short, brisk steps that echoed dully against the walls, when a dark figure stepped into his path._

_He came to an unsteady halt, peering into the dimness with narrowed eyes . . . and then the figure moved closer, and he saw that it was a round, kind-faced old woman:  the librarian.  He wasn't sure of her name, but she was only a few inches taller than himself, with thick white hair tugged back into a bun, and old brown robes covered in splotches of ink.  She smiled at him kindly, hands folded in front of her, and Remus noticed that she was missing one of her front teeth._

_"Can I help ya find anythin', dear?"_

No, thanks; I'm not looking for anything._  That was what he should say--he knew that was what he should say.  And yet try as he might to force the words to come out, they stayed stuck in his throat.  He drew a difficult breath and opened his mouth, hoping the movement might assist him in speaking them, but it didn't; it only made things worse._

_"I'm looking for a book on werewolves," he said._

~Ryuen


	4. IV The Joining of the Houses

[Remus:  Chapter 4]

_IV_.  _The Joining of the Houses_

He had seen the boy before--he was sure of it.  After all, they were in the same year, and they had been attending Defense Against the Dark Arts classes together for the past month, sitting just a few seats away.  Yet no matter how desperately Remus strained his memory, he couldn't remember anything at all about Severus Snape, except that (1) he was a Slytherin, and (2) due to the vindictiveness of Professor Haggley, they were going to be working together for the rest of the term.

"As it seems some of you--"  The bearded old wizard glared at Sirius and James, who were too annoyed at their new partners to even try to look innocent.  "--are incapable of paying attention when partnered with members of your own houses, I am confident that this new arrangement will be most beneficial to everyone."  Tugging at his long grey beard, Professor Haggley began to walk up and down the aisles, directing pointed and approving glances at the newly-formed pairs.  "Besides, this ridiculous feud between the houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin has gone on long enough.  It is all well and good to compete on the Quidditch field, but that is where the animosity should end.  You are really not as different as you like to think."

Frowning at the snorts of laughter that followed this announcement, Professor Haggley marched back up to the front of the room and lowered himself into his desk chair.  "Think it's funny, do you?" he asked, smoothing at his spotless grey robes.  "Well, then, I suppose we will have to do this the hard way.  For your first assignment in these new pairs--"  The old man's lips twisted into a positively wicked smile.  "--I ask that you each write an essay, at least one roll of parchment in length, comparing and contrasting yourself to your partner.  You may cover the topics of interests, best subjects, likes, dislikes, favorite books, favorites spells, or even favorite and--" The smile went a bit crooked.  "--_least_ favorite professors.  This essay must be handed into me by Wednesday's class period, and if any foul language is used, _Mr. Black_, I guarantee you, you will be scrubbing the infirmary floors by supper."  
  


A groan worked its way around the room.

"But, Professor!"  It was James, sounding more irate than Remus had ever heard him.  "This is Defense Against the _Dark Arts_.  What's some bloody essay on _Slytherins _got to do with the Dark Arts??"  
  


Haggley raised one bushy grey eyebrow.  "My dear boy," he said dryly, "if the rift between Slytherin and Gryffindor remains for much longer, I daresay we will have to contend with all _manner_ of dark arts.  And as I would hate to see any one of you injured by a ridiculous and pointless feud, I will do whatever is in my power to ensure that you _learn_ something about one another."  

Another groan. 

"If you do not understand that," Haggley continued in a sharper voice, rising irritably from his chair, "then understand _this_.  The Dark Arts is not just a hobby someone enters into, thinking it may make him a success at parties.  No.  It is entered into for a distinct purpose, and for every witch or wizard, that purpose is a bit different.  If you can understand what path has led a person into the Dark Arts, then that equips you with the sort of insight that may just save your life.  Do not underestimate the importance of psychology, Mr. Potter--any of you.  No one simply _is_ evil.  There is always a road that takes them there, and if you can find a map of that road, then you can be prepared for whatever they might throw at you, because you _understand_ them."

There were no groans this time, only silent, startled stares.  Then Professor Haggley pressed his palms to the desk and sank back into his chair, and the squelch of leather seemed to snap the students out of their trances.  There was some looking around; Peter, seated at the table in front of Remus with Lucius Malfoy, glanced back at the smaller boy with a grimace.  Remus tried to offer a reassuring smile, but he certainly didn't envy the other boy his partner.  

"Well," said Professor Haggley with renewed cheer, "you may use the remainder of the class period to begin your essays.  And do not think that just because I am not looking at you that I am not _listening_ to you.  I will be grading your quizzes from last week, but I will also be listening very closely for any hint of animosity between you."  He smiled again, and Remus couldn't help but think how similar the grin was to the one James got when he was plotting something wicked.  "If you cannot compose a simple essay together, then you may bond while serving detention.  It is your choice."  
  


And with that, a pyramid of rolled parchments materialized in front of Professor Haggley, and the class was on its own.

~*~

Conversation was long in coming.  For the first five minutes, the newly-paired Slytherins and Gryffindors sat in awkward silence, casting occasional furtive glances at one another but saying nothing, perhaps hoping silent protest might convince Professor Haggley to rescind his assignment.  Haggley, however, seemed entirely unconcerned, scratching at last week's quizzes with an old quill and humming softly to himself.  

Finally, Remus sighed and turned to his partner, giving himself a moment to study the boy before plunging into their assignment.

Tall and gangly for an eleven-year-old, Severus Snape sat rigidly on his stool, thin white hands folded on the tabletop, chin slightly raised as if to peer over the heads of the students in front of him.  His robes were newer and finer than Remus' own, the velvety fabric giving further emphasis to the boy's bony arms and shoulders, and his hair--dark and slightly scraggly, a stark contrast to his pale skin--fell nearly to his shoulders.  He had a long, hooked nose, giving the impression of some vicious bird of prey, and his eyes were dark and narrowed, the stare beneath them surprisingly intense.  

Remus swallowed.  "Maybe. . . we should get started," he said.  His voice was soft, barely above a murmur, but in the otherwise silent room, it rang like a shout.  He winced, but couldn't help noticing the approving smile Haggley granted him over his pile of parchments.  

And just like that, the silence broken, other voices began to fill the air, and Remus could breathe a bit easier.  Drawing his gaze back to Severus, he found the other boy regarding him almost curiously, and took this seeming lack of animosity as encouragement.

"Where would you like to start?" he asked, dunking his quill into the ink well.

Severus stared at him for a few additional seconds, those dark eyes narrowing steadily, then he gave a ghost of a smile and shrugged.  "It's a ridiculous assignment," he said, casting a scornful glance at Professor Haggley.  "And all that rubbish about psychology . . ."  The boy's eyes blazed suddenly, and when he spoke, his voice was low and fervent.  "There's only one way to fight the Dark Arts, Lupin, and that's by learning what they do so you can do it to them first.  Unfortunately, none of the staff members at this school seem to be willing to admit to that--"  Snape's voice was rising now, so much that several students had turned to listen.  "--or else they care so little for their students as to give them pointless assignments when they should be teaching them how to defend themselves against evil forces instead.  When I am a professor here, you can be sure that things will be _very_ -- _different_."

"I've not doubt of that, Mr. Snape," said Professor Haggley mildly.  He hadn't even bothered to look up from the parchments he was grading, but his long grey beard was twitching slightly, as if his teeth were grinding together.  "In any case, the assignment stands.  And as much as I would hate to force Mr. Lupin to suffer alongside you, I will not hesitate to give you both detention if you continue to give impassioned speeches in my classroom."

Snape flushed angrily, but said nothing; when he turned back to Remus, he looked ready to kill.  "Very well," he muttered.  "I suppose the sooner we begin this ridiculous essay, the sooner we will be done."

"Er . . . yes."  Remus managed a wincing smile.  "So, where would you like to--"  
  


"My full name," interrupted Severus, facing front again with a maddeningly-bored expression on his face, "is Severus Oliver Snape.  I am eleven years old, and if I am forced to sit through many more classes like this, I shall die of insufferable boredom before I reach twelve.  My favorite classes are Potions and Transfiguration, my favorite book is The Big Book Of Grisly Wizarding Deaths by Marshall M. Fleetwood, and I do hope you're writing this down, Lupin, because I'm not going to repeat myself."  

Startled, Remus grabbed up the discarded quill and hastily dabbed it into the inkwell, then scribbled all Snape had said in rushed, compact cursive.  Without bothering to see if he'd finished writing, Snape plunged onward.  The boy talked for what seemed an eternity, detailing a few nasty spells he was fond of, sharing his opinions on the inadequacies of the Hogwarts staff, and then finally drifting into a short critique of the Ministry of Magic, which apparently was where an uncle of his worked.  Remus wrote it all down, his fingers cramped and burning from the dictation, but he did his best to tune most of it out.  It wasn't until this last editorial that the smaller boy found his attention drawn back in.  

Through the blur of words, a few crept in:  "--werewolf situation a few months ago." 

Remus dropped his quill.  Blinking, he snatched it up from the floor and turned back to Severus, who was regarding him with a peculiar, curious sort of frown.  "Erm . . . sorry, could you say that last again?"  
  


Snape lifted his bony shoulders and gave a long-suffering sigh.  "I was merely saying that the Ministry of Magic is full of idiots and xenophobes, and if you need any proof of that, you need only look at how they handled that werewolf situation a few months ago."  
  


Had it been any other topic, Remus might have sat there wondering how any eleven-year-old could possibly be so well-versed in current events, or possess a vocabulary that seemed more fitting of a seventh year student or perhaps even a professor.  But this topic . . .  He swallowed with some difficulty, and somehow managed to keep his voice from shaking.

"What happened?"

Snape sneered at him as if to say, _You haven't heard?_ but, apparently pleased at having a receptive audience to his opinions, explained anyway.  "There was a werewolf hiding in the Ministry itself," he said with some amusement.  "Right beneath their noses, all that time.  He was a member of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures--head of the werewolf division.  That's how he was hiding it, by going 'out to look for werewolves' every full moon.  Nobody questioned if he came back looking scratched up.  It was a huge scandal when he was found out."  The sneer grew a bit wider.  "It was in all the papers."  
  


Remus' mouth felt dry, and he hurriedly put his hands into his lap so Snape wouldn't see them shaking.  "What did they do to him?" he managed.

Severus turned to him and, locking him in his dark, narrow-eyed stare, murmured, "They killed him.  Not officially, of course.  _Officially_, he was dismissed from the Ministry and told never to come back.  But before he could even pack up his things, somebody came along and put a silver bullet in his heart.  The Ministry started a formal investigation, but it didn't get very far, because no one cared.  Even if they won't admit it, most of the Ministers probably thought he deserved it."

He felt hollow, as if someone had torn out everything inside of him and buried it deep in the earth.  He knew he should keep his mouth shut, that saying anything, showing _any_ sign of how deeply this news was affecting him, would be terribly dangerous, but the words seemed to leave his lips of their own accord.

"They killed him," he whispered.  "Just because he was different . . ."  
  


"It's ridiculous," Severus agreed, and for the first time, Remus looked at him with an inkling of respect.  "Centuries ago, Muggles were trying to kill _our_ kind, because they thought that just because we _could_ hurt them, we would.  It's the same bloody thing here.  You'd think someone would learn."

Remus was still sitting there in silence, feeling tingly and vaguely sick, when Professor Haggley announced that class was dismissed.  

~*~

Self-absorbed as they often were, his friends noticed almost immediately that something was bothering him.  Defense Against the Dark Arts was their last class before lunch, so they were making their way towards the dining hall when Remus realized that James, Sirius, and Peter were all studying him curiously.  Of course, he couldn't blame them; he was naturally quieter than the rest of them, having spent too many years as an outcast to leap directly into the social limelight, but today, he was being even more reserved than usual.  He tried to wrestle his thoughts away from the Ministry werewolf, to think about lunch and class and Quidditch, but he couldn't seem to stop himself now that he had started.

There was an image in his mind, one that had formed as Snape was explaining the situation to him in class, and now he couldn't seem to banish it from his mind.  He saw a gentle, kind-faced man, probably with a few fading scars on his cheeks and arms, walking into his office, and beginning sadly to pack his things into a box.  And then the door flew open and someone he knew, someone he trusted-- 

"Remus."  Something caught his arm and tugged him to the side, so that he just narrowly missed walking into a pillar.  A quick glance over his shoulder saw Sirius' fingers around his bicep, Peter and James frowning at him from slightly behind.  "Are you all right?"

"That greasy Slytherin you were stuck with didn't say anything to you, did he?" James demanded fiercely.  "If he did, I swear I'll--"  
  


"No," Remus said quickly, forcing as much reassurance into his voice as he could muster.  "No, I'm fine.  I just . . . I don't feel well."

"You can't keep using that same excuse, you know," Sirius said in a low voice, so low that Remus doubted James or Peter could hear.  "One of these days, you're gonna have to tell us what's _really_ bothering you."  
  


He glanced up at the taller boy, feeling his heart pounding a little more quickly at the thought of talking about what was actually troubling him, and somehow managed a small smile.  "Nothing's bothering me, Sirius.  I'm probably just getting sick."

"Didn't you get sick around this time last month, too?  
  


Remus missed a step and almost stumbled; when he glanced back at his friend, dreading the expression he might see on his face, he was relieved to find nothing but curiosity and concern.  Sirius didn't know.  At least . . .   Remus swallowed.  He didn't know _yet_.

He was just opening his mouth to answer, considering telling the other boy that he had some rare tropical disease that cropped up every month around the same time, when he noticed Sirius' expression completely change.  When he followed the boy's glance to find out why, peering through the sea of students all taller than himself, his mouth dropped open.

There, hobbling through the corridor like a mummy with a cane, was Professor Iodan.

"Bloody hell," James breathed.  "Is she mad?"  
  


It did, indeed, seem as if Professor Iodan had gone mad.  There was no sign of her long, strawberry-blond hair; it was hidden beneath a mass of tightly-wound bandages, if indeed it had survived the blast at all, and all that showed of her face was one eye--her left--the lower half of her nose, and her mouth.  The only part of her body that was _not_ wrapped up was her left leg, which had somehow escaped the torment that befell the rest of her, and due to that healthy leg, she was able to hobble through the corridors with just a cane to support her.  Had it not been for her long, stylishly-cut turquoise robes, embroidered with the initials "I.I.," Remus doubted anyone could have identified her at all.

Students were stopping to stare openly at Iodan as she crept along, parting before her like the proverbial Red Sea.  It was a moment before Remus realized that she was hobbling towards _him_.

...at least, he _thought_ she was hobbling towards him.  Iodan did come to a halt just in front of him, glancing at him with one slightly-bloodshot blue eye, but then the eye flickered to something just behind him:  Peter.

"Msstr Pttgrw," she managed, the bandages apparently keeping her jaws tightly clamped.  "Ll -- xpct -- yuu -- n -- m -- off'ss -- n -- twnty -- mnts."

Peter blinked at her, glancing helplessly at his friends, but they only shrugged.  

Remus, whose parents had always had a fascination with Muggle movies, thought she sounded a lot like the Tin Man from _The Wizard of Oz_, and had he been a bit bolder--or thought anyone would understand him--he might have commented that perhaps she was trying to say, "oil can."  As it was, he kept his silence, and a moment later, Iodan limped away.

Peter grimaced.  "Did, um . . . . did any of you guys understand what she said?"

"Not a word," said James, shaking his head.  "Do you think this means we have to go to Potions?"

Sirius made a face.  "She wouldn't try to teach like that.  She _couldn't_.  It'd be--"  
  


James clapped a hand on the taller boy's shoulder.  "Mad?  Kind of like, I don't know, hobbling through the halls with a cane the day after you've been in an explosion?"

"Well," Peter sighed, "I guess I'll see you guys in Potions.  I'd better go find out what she wants before she gives me detention again.  See ya."

Remus lifted his hand in farewell, and Peter slipped into the flood of passing students and started back the other way.  Once he'd vanished from view, James grinned and leaned close to the other two.  

"Betcha anything Iodan wants him to make up that lab," he said with a nod.  

Sirius shook his head.  "She's mad."

~*~

Despite Professor Iodan's hobbling return, Potions that day was a library study hall, although how long it would remain one was yet to be seen.  Peter didn't show up at all, leading the three of them to believe that perhaps Iodan _had_ demanded he make up the assignment that had been destroyed in the blast.  How this could be done without ingredients or a lab, however, they had no idea.  

McGonagall had stressed that they use this time to work on homework from other classes or to read silently, but few paid attention to this; there was laughing and talking, earning some irate stares from those students actually in the library to _work_, and James and Sirius invented some strange game in which they tried to levitate balled up pieces of parchment into empty quill-holders.  They invited Remus to play, but the smaller boy just wasn't in the mood; once they'd gotten involved enough in their levitating not to miss his presence, he slipped away to roam the shelves.

His head was buzzing, and although he had eaten almost nothing at lunch, he felt as full and nauseated as if he'd just returned from a feast.  The library shelves rose high above him, some of the books rattling as he passed, some cackling or whispering, but he didn't stop to look at any of them. Past the front room, where the ceiling was low and there were study tables for students, the library became positively cavernous, the ceiling arching startlingly high to accommodate level after level of shelved books.  It made him feel very small--moreso than usual, at least.  

He had been walking for perhaps five or six minutes, taking short, brisk steps that echoed dully against the walls, when a dark figure stepped into his path.

He came to an unsteady halt, peering into the dimness with narrowed eyes . . . and then the figure moved closer, and he saw that it was a round, kind-faced old woman:  the librarian.  He wasn't sure of her name, but she was only a few inches taller than himself, with thick white hair tugged back into a bun, and old brown robes covered in splotches of ink.  She smiled at him kindly, hands folded in front of her, and Remus noticed that she was missing one of her front teeth.

"Can I help ya find anythin', dear?"

_No, thanks; I'm not looking for anything_.  That was what he should say--he _knew_ that was what he should say.  And yet try as he might to force the words to come out, they stayed stuck in his throat.  He drew a difficult breath and opened his mouth, hoping the movement might assist him in speaking them, but it didn't; it only made things worse.

"I'm looking for a book on werewolves," he said.

And just like that, he knew it was over.  This was the end.  He had said the word--he had said _that word_--and now that he had said it, somehow, everything would come crashing down around him.  Malfoy would be hiding behind that shelf, listening, and piece everything together, or Sirius would be standing just out of view, having been coming up behind him to see where he'd gone to, or . . . _something_.  _Something_ would happen to damn him for speaking that word, and he would say goodbye to Hogwarts before he had even completed his first year.

"Werewolves, eh?" said the librarian with a smile, and while he was still contemplating the many ways in which the world could come crumbling down on top of him, she turned and started off in the opposite direction.  Numbed but not knowing what else to do, Remus followed, and a few moments later, found himself standing in front of a huge, dizzyingly-high shelf of tattered books.

"Right here, dear," the librarian told him with a smile.  "Everythin' ya ever wanted to know about werewolves, and some things ya probably didn't.  Was there anythin' . . . in particular ya wanted to know, or were ya just lookin' for some general information?"  
  


Remus opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out.  The shelf was immense, and every book on it, _every single book_, was about werewolves.  _Every single book!_  For the past two years, he had read everything he could find on the subject, even those books high above his own reading level, but he had never seen so many all in one place.  Could there really be this many books about werewolves?

Knowing he had to reply somehow, he jerked his head up and down in a nod, and the librarian gave a chortle and started to walk away.

"If ya need any more help, just holler," she called over one shoulder.  "I'll be around."

Once she had gone, Remus drew closer to the shelf and, almost reverently, ran his fingertips along the spines of some of the books.  They were all very dusty, as if few of them had been removed since being placed here, but he didn't care.  He didn't care that they smelled musty and mildewed, or that some of them had titles like HOW TO KILL A WEREWOLF BEFORE HE KILLS YOU and CHOOSING THE RIGHT SILVER BULLET and THE WAR ON WEREWOLVES.  He didn't care, because here, right here, was a shelf of books about _him_, about _people like him_.  And even if he had to read a thousand books by authors who hated all werewolves and thought they should be killed on sight, it would be worth it if he could find _just one_ _book_ written by someone who didn't.  Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, Remus sat down on the floor and started the search for that book.

~*~

Time blurred.  As he had suspected, many of the books--particularly the older ones--were less than helpful.  They detailed ways of killing werewolves, ways of injuring werewolves, ways of distracting werewolves, and ways of restraining werewolves.  One, called IF YOU LOVE ME, YOU'LL KILL ME, made him feel ill just looking at it; it was a book geared towards the parents of werewolves, and urged them not to allow their children to suffer when it was better and "more humane" to simply kill them, thus sparing all involved the pain of the following years.  __

_When a child is bitten, _the book stated in chapter one, _it is as if he has contracted a fatal and very contagious illness.  While in the grips of this illness, he will live a life of suffering and anguish, and will indeed possibly spread this suffering to others, who will in turn spread it to others.  It is natural to want to believe that that is not the life that awaits your child, that he will be better off alive than dead, but in truth, it is selfish to keep him alive.  Even if he never tells you, know that he is suffering, and that as long as you keep him alive, you keep him in misery and allow him to be a danger to others.  If you love him, you will not let him live like this.  _

And then, in no less than ten consecutive, fully-illustrated chapters, the book gave ways of how best to kill that poor, miserable werechild.  Despite the myths concerning silver as the only viable tool, there were apparently many other ways to get the job done.  Werewolves, the book explained, could indeed only be killed by silver when in wolf form, but when in human form, they were just as susceptible to other types of damage as if they had never been bitten at all.  __

_One popular method is suffocation, preferably when the child is asleep.  He will drift off painlessly, still wrapped in the warmth of his dreams, and will never even have to know what is happening to him.  In order to ensure that the child does not wake before this can be done, it is advised that a very soft pillow be used, and be pressed to the face as gently as possible, blocking air from the nose and mouth in a way that_

Disgusted, Remus snapped the book shut and pushed it off his lap.  It hit the floor with a resounding thump, and for a moment he just stared at it, breathing heavily and giving thanks that his own parents had never read such a thing.

Wearily massaging the bridge of his nose, he pulled the next book down from the shelf and dropped it into his lap.  He had already looked through at least twenty books, having started at the bottom left and worked his way across.  Those books that had offered no help at all, he'd piled to his right, those books that had been _slightly_ helpful, he'd piled to his left, and those that he would have enjoyed burning and them stomping on, he threw in random directions and glared at.  So far, there were seven such books, the most recent of which was IF YOU LOVE ME, YOU'LL KILL ME.  He was just opening the latest book, wondering what he might find inside, when he became aware of footsteps approaching.

He stared around at the mess he'd made, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, but only managed to get two books back onto the shelf before the librarian stepped into view.  

"Just thought ya'd like to know, dear," she said with a smile.  "It's nearly time for supper, and I do believe some friends of yours were lookin' for ya."

Remus blinked.  "Nearly . . . "  
  


"Supper," the woman repeated.  "Ya been sittin' here for hours, ya know.  Oh, and don't worry 'bout puttin' all those back.  They'll find their own way.  They always do.  Will ya be takin' any with ya?"

Surveying the books he'd piled, none of which had offered much more than what he already knew, Remus shook his head.  As he stood up, however, he realized he still held the latest book in his hands and reconsidered.  "Is it all right if I take this one?"

The librarian reached forward to draw the book out of his hands; she spent a moment admiring the dark green leather cover before nodding.  "Go ahead.  I'll just mark ya down.  Name, dear?"  
  


He considered giving a fake name.  He _wanted_ to.  But instead, he sighed and said, "Remus Lupin."

The old woman drew a wand from her robes and scribbled his name in the air; the letters glittered once, revolving lazily, and then were sucked into the book he'd selected.  The librarian returned the book to him, then, her eyes lingering just slightly longer than necessary on his face, and then she turned and walked off.  Remus stood there, alone and lost in thought, for several minutes before burying the book in his satchel and starting back the way he'd come.

~*~End Chapter Four~*~

**Notes:**

**December 21, 2002:  **Happy Almost-Christmas, everyone!  And to those who don't celebrate such things, happy December 21st!!  Ahem, now, anyway...it seems I have more people to thank and respond to. ^__^.  So, super huge thanks and fruit baskets to evil spapple pie, Lunatica, StarCat13, Nev, Skittles, Bobbi, Flying Heart, Balail, Kitai, NK, Chiara, Kalina Quantum, silent-wishes, ForceMuette, and shadow priestess!  I appreciate all of your comments verrrrrrrry very much; thank you SO much for each and every one of them. ^__^.  

And now, to answer some questions...

**Q:**  "Why would Sirius accept the excuse that Remus was attacked by a wolf YEARS ago, if he had fresh wounds on his arms?" (Nev)

**A:**   Well, this will certainly be mentioned somewhere later, but I'll enlighten you now since I have it in my power to do so. ^_~.  Each time Remus is injured throughout the course of his transformation, Madam Pomfrey attends to his wounds, healing them as best she can and then sending him along on his way.  Occasionally, these healings do not leave scars, but often, given that even magic must have limitations, they do—thus, what Sirius sees on Remus' arms are scars.  They don't look particularly fresh and certainly aren't bleeding; they're simply...scars.  *nod*

**Q:  **"Something caught my eye in the end of the chapter:  "—James and me, I mean.  And probably Peter."  I hope Sirius meant that in a good way – like, 'Peter's a nice person but doesn't always remember to watch his mouth about other people's secrets' – and not in a 'there's something fishy about Peter' way." (Chiara)

**A:  **Sirius did, indeed, mean it in the "Peter's a nice person" way.  The Marauders are best friends, and despite what happens later, I really don't believe that Peter was a bad person when he met James, Sirius, and Remus.  I just really don't think those three would've been very inclined to befriend him and accept him into their inner circle if he _were_, and so...well, I try to portray him as a fairly likeable--if slightly daunted by the intelligence of his friends--kind of kid.  Later, of course, things will slowly begin to draw him out of that role, but I really don't think that Peter entered into the service of Voldemort with the intention of hurting people.  His primary defense when questioned about it in Prisoner of Azkaban was "He would've killed me!" or something to that effect.  Although sacrificing his friends to save himself was less than noble, I don't think it was spurned from any desperate desire to "turn to the dark side."  ^_~.  ...okay, anyway.  Peter Pettigrew rant now over.  ^_~.

Any more questions, just stick them in your reviews which—by the way, again—I appreciate _tremendously_. ^__^.  ...oh, and has anyone noticed yet that Snape's initials spell out S.O.S.? ^_~. 

...and now, because I just finished Chapter 5 about ten minutes ago, here's a preview:

_~*~Chapter 5:  Rescue~*~_

_Remus frowned.  "But why would Malfoy want to blow up the Potions lab?  And if he did, why would he do it when Professor Iodan was down there?"  
  
_

_When Peter seemed unable to answer this, mouth flapping as he struggled to sort through the logic, James gave a shrug and laid down his fork.  "Probably he didn't know she was down there.  I mean, classes were over for the day, and I'm pretty sure there was a staff meeting going on then, too--although why Iodan didn't go to that, I don't know."  
  
_

_"Oh," said Peter with a fervent nod, "I know why she didn't go.  It was all she could talk about while I was trying to get my lab done."  The boy glanced nervously around again, and this time, his voice was hushed to the point that they could barely hear him when he spoke.  "The staff meeting was about one of the students," he said, his eyes wide.  "A _werewolf_."_

_Something jolted into Remus' stomach; his heart was suddenly hammering in his chest, and he felt very cold and small, as if he lay curled at the bottom of an icy lake.  He thought his heart would smash out through his ribs as Peter continued._

_"A werewolf?" James breathed; all traces of mirth were gone from his face.  "There's a werewolf at Hogwarts?"_

~Ryuen


	5. V Rescue

[Remus:  Chapter 5]

_V._  _Rescue_

James, Sirius, and Peter were already seated at the Gryffindor table when he entered; the bright lights stung his eyes after so long in the dimness of the library, and he was still blinking as the three of them rushed over to him.  

"Remus!" Peter exclaimed, sounding particularly breathless.  "Where ya been?"

"We were about to send out a search party!" James put in cheerfully.  "Fall in a hole somewhere?"

Sirius was studying him closely, arms folded over his chest.  "You missed Transfiguration," he said flatly.

"Ah, don't worry about that," said James, waving a dismissive hand.  "You can copy my notes."  
  


Remus, who had just been opening his mouth to offer apologies for his absence, instead blinked and turned back to James in astonishment. "You took notes?"  
  


The boy raked a hand through his thick black hair, a grin quirking at his lips, and shrugged.  "Well, I wrote things down," he amended.  "Some of it might have to do with class.  ...so where were you, anyway?  We looked all over the place."  He winked.  "Even your favorite stall."

"Sorry," Remus apologized as they made their way to the table.  He considered telling his friends where he'd been, so at least there would be some ring of truth to his story, but what if they asked what he'd been reading?  What would he say, then?  He cleared his throat, deciding to go with the old, faithful excuse.  "I guess I just wasn't--"  
  


"Feeling well?" Sirius cut in dryly.  

The smaller boy flushed and slid into his seat.  The food was already out, wafting temptingly around the sounds of clattering silverware and energetic conversation; as Remus reached for the pot of mashed potatoes in front of him, however, he realized with a start that he wasn't terribly hungry.  Frowning, he drew back his hand, wondering if perhaps reading so many books whose authors despised and wished to murder him might have had an adverse effect on his appetite.  

When was the last time he had eaten?  He had skipped both meals the day of the full moon, as he was never terribly hungry just before his transformation; he had only picked at the food Dumbledore brought him as he recovered, and then . . . well, he had skipped supper yesterday and had eaten nothing yet today.  He did recall having read somewhere that wolves could go two weeks without any food at all, but he wasn't sure if that applied to werewolves, as well.  

"So, are you gonna tell us what happened with Professor Iodan, Pete, or do we have to guess?"  

Glancing up from the muddled reflection of himself in his plate, Remus was just in time to see James nudge Peter with his elbow.  The plump, brown-haired boy had been sculpting a mound of potatoes with his fork, staring at his creation with the utmost concentration, but now he glanced up in surprise, a slight flush creeping into his cheeks.  "Well, ah--"  Peter gave a thin smile that looked more like a grimace, and beside Remus, Sirius sat up a bit straighter with interest.  "She wanted to talk to me about what happened yesterday, actually.  About...when the lab blew up."  The boy snickered once, breaking through the hesitancy with a closed-lipped smirk. "McGonagall won't let her use her office downstairs, since she doesn't want anybody down by where the explosion happened, so she's set up in that broom closet on the second floor.  You know, the one where Peeves keeps his collection of wadded up chewing gum?"

Sirius and James laughed, and even Remus couldn't help grinning.  

"Serves her right," Sirius said when the laughter had faded, shaking his head as he shoved a spoonful of peas into his mouth.  "She's bloody mad, leaving the hospital wing all bandaged up like that."  
  


Peter grimaced again.  "You might not think she's so mad after I tell you what happened next."  He leaned forward, eyes flickering from side to side as if watching for eavesdroppers, and finally halted with his head hovering just over a platter of dinner rolls.  "When she figured out that I couldn't understand a bloody word she was saying, she bewitched some weird little puppet thing to do the talking for her.  Anyway, she wanted to know everything I saw right before the explosion, so I told her about the person who ran by, and she said..."  Peter's voice went even softer, so that the three of them had to lean forward themselves to hear.  "She said she saw whoever it was, too," he whispered.  "They came out of the lab just before it blew up, and even Professor McGonagall doesn't know this, but..._it was a student._"

Remus felt his eyes widening; a quick glance at Sirius and James showed them with nearly identical expressions.

"A student?" James echoed, and he sounded slightly awed.  "A _student_ blew up the Potions lab?"  
  


"Shh," Peter hissed, glancing around nervously.  "Yeah.  Iodan wouldn't tell me who, but I think it's because she doesn't know.  But she said whoever it was was wearing student robes, and had long hair."  He paused, chewing slightly on his lower lip; Remus recognized the expression as the one Peter assumed during particularly-trying moments of deduction.  "I think maybe that's why she left the hospital wing so early, because she wants to find out who it was as soon as possible.  When I was in there, she had a big book of all the students in the school open on her desk, and -- she had it stopped on the _Slytherin_ page."  

As one, their eyes all drifted to the Slytherin table, where Lucius Malfoy, his long, white-blond hair tied at the nape of his neck, was glaring at Crabbe and Goyle as the pair shoveled mashed potatoes into their mouths.  

"Hmm," said James in mock-confusion.  "Now, who do we know in Slytherin who has long hair and might want to blow something up..."  
  


"And if it _was_ him," Peter said, cheeks slightly flushed with the pleasure of figuring something out on his own, "I'll bet none of those Slytherins would say anything about it.  I bet they'd just pretend that he was there in the common room with them or something when it happened, so nobody'd ever find out about it."  
  


Remus frowned.  "But why would Malfoy want to blow up the Potions lab?  And if he did, why would he do it when Professor Iodan was down there?"  
  


When Peter seemed unable to answer this, mouth flapping as he struggled to sort through the logic, James gave a shrug and laid down his fork.  "Probably he didn't know she was down there.  I mean, classes were over for the day, and I'm pretty sure there was a staff meeting going on then, too--although why Iodan didn't go to that, I don't know."  
  


"Oh," said Peter with a fervent nod, "I know why she didn't go.  It was all she could talk about while I was trying to get my lab done."  The boy glanced nervously around again, and this time, his voice was hushed to the point that they could barely hear him when he spoke.  "The staff meeting was about one of the students," he said, his eyes wide.  "A _werewolf._"

Something jolted into Remus' stomach; his heart was suddenly hammering in his chest, and he felt very cold and small, as if he lay curled at the bottom of an icy lake.  He thought his heart would smash out through his ribs as Peter continued.

"A werewolf?" James breathed; all traces of mirth were gone from his face.  "There's a _werewolf_ at Hogwarts?"  
  


"Yeah," said Peter with another wide-eyed nod.  "I guess some of the staff members didn't know at first, but word got to them somehow, and so Dumbledore was having a staff meeting so he could explain it all to them.  Iodan was really mad.  She went on and on and on about how dangerous werewolves are and how they shouldn't be anywhere near a school and how she'd go out alone at night in the Forbidden Forest before she'd go to Dumbledore's meeting.  I thought she was gonna burst a blood vessel or something."

There was silence for a moment, all four of them staring down at their plates in thought.

_Just be quiet,_ Remus told himself, hiding trembling hands in his lap.  _Just don't say anything and you'll be fine.  Don't -- say -- anything._  
  


"A werewolf," James murmured at last, shaking his head in disbelief.  "I wonder if the Ministry knows about this."

"Probably," said Sirius, frowning slightly into his food.  "I don't think Dumbledore would've done it without telling them.  So, they must know.  I wonder if they know who it is, though.  Or if the teachers do."

Peter shook his head.  "I don't think Iodan knew.  Maybe Dumbledore's keeping it quiet so the teachers won't treat whoever it is any different.  But...well, I mean, Dumbledore must know.  And Professor McGonagall, probably."

"Hey," Peter said after another moment of silence, sounding truly excited that he was so bursting full of logic this evening.  "Isn't it kind of weird that a werewolf comes to Hogwarts, and then somebody blows up the Potions lab when the one professor who really _hates_ werewolves is down there?"  
  


Remus tried to swallow, but there seemed to be no moisture left in his throat; his hands were trembling more violently than before, squeezed between his thighs where he hoped no one would see them, and he was feeling weak and lightheaded.  He gripped the edge of the table with one shaking hand, feeling cold and sweaty, and took deep, long breaths that he hoped might calm him.  

He heard James start to say something, but before he could get out more than "Do you think--", Sirius' voice cut up through his words.

"Remus?"  

His vision was coming in and out of focus, the table swaying wildly in front of him; he could feel the sweat trickling down the side of his face, but didn't dare let go of the table to wipe it away, afraid he might topple over without the support.  His breathing was getting quicker and shallower as the panic crawled up his throat, and he had a bad feeling that if he couldn't calm down, if he couldn't come back under control, he was going to pass out.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, steady and strong.

"Remus," Sirius said again, and there was a steely note of worry in his voice.  "Can you--"  
  


But he never heard whatever the next words were; it was as if someone had thrown a heavy blanket over his head.  The world around him went hushed and dim, the only sound in his ears the frantic thrumming of his own heartbeat and the ragged rush of breath; a dark curtain of blackness was tugging at the edges of his vision, crowding in on the world.  He thought that he might be dying, but the thought raced away before he could give it much consideration.  

The last thing he saw before he passed out was Sirius' face, peering at his own with concern and fear . . . and then everything went black.

~*~

"...to get him to the..."

"...wrong with him, is he..."

"...passed out, I th..."

"...ack to your dormit..."

The voices faded in and out, swimming in the reddish darkness beneath his eyelids; he had a vague sensation of being moved, and of strong arms encircling him, but it was all hazy and dim, as in a dream.  He could feel time creeping by, and had a definite sense of movement from around him, but it was as if he had been bound from head to toe and left at the foot of an immense chasm.  He could try to break free, try to move, try to scream, but nothing would set him free--he would stay here until someone found him and released him, and until then, all he could do was wait.

The waiting seemed to last forever.  Darkness swirled around him, dizzying and complete, and there seemed to be no end to it.  Suddenly, however, there was a shaft of light, piercing in through the blackness like a flare of sunlight, and then there was another, and another.  Warmth crept into his chilled his limbs, bringing back feeling and sensation, and it felt suddenly as if he were floating up, floating _out_ of the darkness...

But just as he was about to burst through the last layer of unconsciousness, something changed.  Icy fingers clenched around his ankle, bony and painful, and he was dragged down a few inches; he didn't dare glance down, knowing what he would find, knowing who was holding him and not wanting to see those too-large, glowing yellow eyes staring hungrily into his own...

He paddled frantically upwards, arms thrashing in the thick black sea that surrounded him, but the fingers stayed clasped tight no matter how he struggled.  He tried kicking, screaming, twisting writhing--nothing seemed to work, nothing seemed to help!  He was being tugged down, deeper and deeper, and the glimmering surface was growing increasingly more distant.  It was fading.  _He_ was fading.

And...it was hopeless, wasn't it?  The wolf was always there, ready to drag him down just when he thought he was safe.  He would never be free from it.  He would never be free.

As moments stretched into eternities, his struggles began to slow, his thrashing limbs going limp against the dark, certain hopelessness.  

_Never..._

He squeezed his eyes shut, hearing the growling cackle of the creature below him at his submission, and--rather half-heartedly--stretched one arm up above his head.  It was hopeless.  He knew it was hopeless, and certainly that simply offering an opportunity for rescue wouldn't guarantee one.  It had never worked before, after all--and he had tried.  He had screamed as the thing lunged at him on that sticky summer night, pleading for them to help him--he was the smallest of them, and he couldn't reach the window as they could.  He couldn't climb out, he couldn't reach...  But even knowing it was hopeless, he had stood there, poised on his tiptoes with arms stretched high above his head, fingertips just brushing the sill, and had prayed that someone would just reach in and help him...  

But no one had, and as the claws scratched jagged red lines on his arms and those glistening white teeth sank into his shoulder, he had known that he would never escape.

It would be no different now.  

But just as he was about to draw the arm back down to his side, there was a sound above him as of a warm, beloved voice, speaking soothing words that even the black sea couldn't swallow.  Instinctively, he tilted his head up towards that voice, descent slowing ever slightly as the wolf paused in confusion--

And suddenly strong, sturdy fingers wrapped around his outstretched wrist, and as he floated there, unable to breathe for the shock, they began to very steadily tug him back up towards the surface.  The thing beneath him gave a shriek of anger and dismay, trying to drag him back down, but the hand that rose from the surface...  It was too strong.  Renewed hope surging through him, Remus kicked his feet wildly, and it helped to propel him even more quickly upwards--he was only inches short of the surface when the bony fingers finally slipped from his ankle, and he was free.

As he felt, again, the welcoming warmth of consciousness returning, he couldn't help twisting his head down to look--and there it was.  The wolf, with yellow eyes large and glittering with anger, was falling away from him, unable to keep pace with the speed and strength of that rescuing hand.  The wolf would always be there, he knew, swimming in the murky depths in wait of him, but for now...for now...

He was safe.

Thankful tears on his lashes, Remus opened his eyes.

He was lying on his back in a bed that was not his own, soft, cottony blankets tugged up to his armpits.  From the thick white curtains that surrounded the mattress, he gathered he was in the hospital wing, and the nearby murmur of Madam Pomfrey's voice—as well as the unmistakable odor of Skele-Gro, mingled with the sharp, leafy scent of crushed herbs—seemed to encourage this assumption.  At first, he remembered very little of what had brought him here, knowing only that he was trembling and weary and had apparently been dreaming, although he had little memory of that at all.  

He let himself believe, for a moment, that this was merely another of his post-full moon check-ups, but a quick look down at himself showed none of the usual streaks of blood or knots of bandages that meant he'd hurt himself.  No, he was here for something else—something had happened.

He was just considering trying to sit up, or at least calling out so someone would come and explain his situation to him, when Madam Pomfrey's words came into sudden focus.  

"…and Black said that he didn't think he'd eaten at all since he'd come back, and of course he only picked at his food before that, so…well, it's no wonder he passed out.  I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner, especially after how badly he hurt himself after that last tr—"  
  


"Now, Poppy," came a low, gentle voice, which Remus recognized immediately as that of Professor Dumbledore.  He sounded strangely wary, however, and Remus thought he detected a note of warning to his tone.  "Some things—private things—should not be discussed in places where young ears might overhear.  And in any case, I'm certain Mr. Lupin was not _trying_ to starve himself.   Most likely he simply forgot." 

Madam Pomfrey sputtered for a moment.  "For…forgot?" she echoed incredulously.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, sounding as if he were smiling that thin, knowing smile of his.  "We must simply encourage his friends to…remind him to eat more often, and I'm certain he will be just fine."

From Pomfrey's scoff, she didn't think much of this theory, but she seemed unwilling to argue with the headmaster over it; Remus heard her stomping off towards her office, muttering under her breath as she moved, and a moment later, heard Dumbledore's soft chuckle.

"I'm afraid I may have upset her," he said, and for a moment, Remus thought there must be someone else standing out there with him, but soon realized this was not the case.  Dumbledore had come to stand just in front of his bed, little more than a tall, robed shadow through the curtains, and a quick tug on the fabric brought that smiling, bearded face into view.  "I'll wager she's not terribly accustomed to having her opinions dismissed so easily--but I don't think I am mistaken.  How are you feeling?"

Remus cleared his throat, tugging the blankets self-consciously higher despite Dumbledore having seen his scars before, and spent a moment pondering that question.  "I feel all right," he answered at last, the words little more than a croak.  "Where are..."  He stopped halfway through the question, suddenly remembering those last frantic moments before he'd passed out--his friends.  They knew there was a werewolf in the school--they _knew!_  Struggling not to let any hint of that panic touch his expression, he drew a few deep breaths and tried to ask again--but Dumbledore seemed, somehow, to know what he'd been on the verge of asking.

"They brought you here," he explained, "and rather than allowing them to wait and be told of your condition, I'm afraid Madam Pomfrey shooed them out."  Blue eyes twinkling beneath his half-moon glasses, Dumbledore leaned in; his voice was scarcely a whisper when he spoke next.  "But, don't worry.  They're standing over there by the door, under an invisibility cloak.  I daresay they won't show themselves until I've left, so I'll be on my way in a moment."  
  


Remus' eyes widened at the mention of the invisibility cloak, as well as the fact that his friends were hiding just across the room.  How long had they been standing there?  And what if Madam Pomfrey had said something about his being a werewolf before Dumbledore was here to stop her?  What if they knew everything and were only waiting for Dumbledore to leave before confronting him about it?  Suddenly feeling sick and dizzy again, Remus lay limply back against the pillows, thinking he might faint again.

"From what I understand," said the old wizard slowly, and in a very gentle sort of voice, "for one already weakened, for instance, by having forgotten to eat over a matter of days, indulging in very stressful thoughts can lead to spells of nausea and even fainting.  Thus, I would suggest not dwelling on those thoughts while in such a weakened state.  Your friends will be there for you, Remus, and even if you doubt that, all you can do is have faith in them."  He smiled, sliding wrinkled hands into the folds of his robes, and started to walk for the door.  "The house elves have been alerted that you will be needing their services," he commented as he moved.  "I would suggest finding someone—perhaps three someones—to escort you to the dining hall and ensure that you do not…forget to eat while there.  Goodnight, Mr. Lupin."

And then, with a swish of displaced air and the click-snap of the door closing, Dumbledore was gone.

…and only seconds later, the air just to the right of the door shimmered, and Sirius, James, and a ruffled-looking Peter appeared.  James had the usual flush of disobedience to his cheeks, while Peter was looking decidedly nervous, as well as a bit claustrophobic—the moment the cloak was removed, the short, plump boy sucked in a deep breath of air and scurried away from his friends.   Sirius, meanwhile, had a strangely-thoughtful expression on his features, dark eyebrows sliding together on his forehead.  For a moment, Remus was terrified that it was because his friend had finally fit the clues together—the thought sent another nauseous wave of dizziness swirling through his brain—but then the dark-haired boy turned to James.

"I think he knew we were there," he said.

James glanced at him in surprise, cheeks still pink with mischievous pleasure, and raised an eyebrow.  "Which of course is why he didn't say anything to us and just...left," he offered dryly.

Sirius looked as if he was about to argue, but a glance in Remus' direction seemed to quell this urge.  Leaving James to the task of folding the cloak back into a neat square, Sirius crossed the room and came to a halt beside Peter, who was already standing at the smaller boy's bedside.  

"Are you all right, Remus?" Peter asked a bit nervously.  The boy's round, plump-cheeked face was screwed up in worry, tiny tendrils of sweat creeping near his ears, presumably from the close quarters beneath the cloak.  His short brown hair was mussed and even more unruly than James', but he didn't seem to notice or care, fingers tangling anxiously in front of him.  

Drawing a deep breath that helped to calm his worries--his friends wouldn't, after all, be speaking to him so normally if they knew--Remus nodded.  He was still mostly on his back on the bed, only elevated by the slight rise of the pillows, but he was able to meet Peter's eyes with what he hoped looked like reassurance.  "I'm all right," he said, and immediately cleared his throat as his voice was still sounding more like a croak.  

_Wolf, not frog._

"I'm all right," he repeated in a stronger voice.

Sirius stepped around Peter so he stood next to Remus' head; his dark hair was hanging in staticky tangles around his face, and despite the slight smile that tugged at his lips, Remus could see the concern in his eyes.  He lifted a sheepish eyebrow.  "I guess you really _weren't_ feeling well."

~*~

With Sirius on one side and James on the other, Remus began the agonizingly-slow trek to the dining hall.  From the scuffle of shoes on stone, he knew that Peter was following just behind them, but weariness and the somewhat-restrictive support of his friends' arms prevented him from turning to see.  

Despite feeling stronger and less dizzy than he had earlier, Remus was still having trouble keeping himself upright; Madam Pomfrey had assured him that he would feel better after he'd eaten, but he couldn't help but think that there was something more to his state than just hunger.  He felt drained, as if he'd just come through a three-day battle and had only barely survived, and he had the definite feeling that the dream had had something to do with it.  As they made their silent, scuffling way down the staircase, he chewed on his lip and strained to remember. He'd never had difficulty recalling his dreams before, but then of course, generally he was _asleep_ and not _unconscious_ when those dreams occured.

He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to concentrate, willing his mind to return the images of the dream to him.  He succeeded, after a few seconds, in catching a glimpse of those familiar yellow eyes rising up through the darkness, but the usual tinge of hunger to them was gone, replaced by...

Anger?

Something grabbed his wrist, a firm, steady grip, and he opened his eyes to discover that they'd stopped.  A glance down showed Sirius' fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he could feel the taller boy's eyes on him, concern flaring through midnight blue.

"Are you all right?" Sirius asked, and despite how many times he'd heard that question over the past few days, it still felt good, to know someone cared.  "Do you want to take a break?"

He shook his head, and was pleased to notice that the motion didn't send the corridor spinning around him.  "Let's keep going," he said quietly, and so they did.

When they reached the dining hall, the food was already waiting there for them, a variety of bowls and plates and platters squeezed together at the very end of the Gryffindor table.  There were chicken legs, chicken thighs, chicken wings, turkey slices, mashed potatoes, fried potatoes, baked potatoes, green beans, string beans, bowls of ripened fruit...  He heard sounds of astonishment and hunger from his friends, and remembered that he had passed out before any of them had had much to eat at supper.

Four places had been set at the table, two on each side of the long table.

They moved forward slowly and silently, as if afraid of scaring off the feast that had been prepared just for them; after Sirius and James had helped him into his seat, Sirius settled in beside him while James and Peter circled to the other side and sat down.  

"It's weird, isn't it?" Peter whispered after a moment, leaning forward in his seat.

James raised an eyebrow at him, already piling potatoes onto his plate.  "What's weird?"  
  


"This," said Peter, glancing around the silent, vacant dining hall.  "It's so..._empty_."  
  


"Well," James replied, popping a green bean into his mouth, "it _is_ the middle of the night, you know, Peter."

Remus was dragged out of his own musings at the empty hall when he noticed Sirius' arm reaching past his face.  The taller boy had slid over on the bench so their shoulders touched, and was now using that closeness to heap potatoes, beans, and pieces of chicken onto Remus' plate; the smaller boy stared at it all for a moment, mouth hanging open, before he could find the voice to speak.  "Sirius, I...I really don't think I can eat this much."  
  


After three more spoonfuls of mashed potatoes, which were now piled wobblingly-high on the plate, Sirius replaced the spoon on the table and cast his friend a stubborn look.  "Try," he said simply, and Remus found that his tone left no room for argument.  That firmly-set jaw clenched just a bit tighter. "I'm not taking my eyes off you until you eat at least half of that.  I mean it."

And Sirius was good to his word.  While Peter and James laughed and chatted and ate, Sirius sat there at the table in silence, unmoving, and stared at the side of Remus' face while the boy slid tentative bites into his mouth.  Remus felt his cheeks warming at the attention, and tried to summon a bit more appetite so as to remove that stare as rapidly as possible; fifteen minutes later, and just when a clock somewhere was chiming midnight, he did so, and a glance to the left showed Sirius smiling at him.  

The taller boy clapped a hand onto his shoulder, the movement noticeably gentler than the slap he typically afforded James.  Remus felt the flush returning to his cheeks.  "There," Sirius said, still grinning at him; his eyes were as murky as ever, looking more black than blue in the dim candlelight.  "Now, I hope you realize that from now on, we're gonna be watching you every mealtime to make sure you eat."  
  


James and Peter, whose mouths were both full of mashed potatoes, nodded and mumbled their assent.

"Because if you think we're going to keep skipping supper to carry you up to the hospital wing, you're mad."

Another mumble of assent from James and Peter.

Despite his best intentions, Remus felt a small smile touch his lips.  "All right," he said.  

After having been deprived of food for so long, his stomach felt heavy and filled to the point of bursting; although so much still waited on his plate, Remus knew that if he didn't stop now, he was going to end up in the hospital wing again, this time for very different reasons.

He laid down his fork.

Beside him, Sirius was shovelling food into his mouth at an astonishing rate, making him very unfit for conversation, but as Peter and James were still discussing something animatedly, the small boy turned his attention to them. 

"--said it goes right into Hogsmeade," Peter was saying.  His eyes were very wide, his elbows propped against the table; a tiny smudge of mashed potatoes clung to his chin.  "He said he found it in his fourth year by accident but that he never told anybody because he was afraid they'd tell other people and then _everybody'd_ know about it.  And, well, he told _me_ not to tell anybody, but I had to tell you guys.  I mean...think what we can _do_ with something like that."  
  


Noticing Remus taking an interest in their conversation, James--who was looking about as full as Remus felt, one arm wrapped around his middle while the other lay limply on the table--turned to the smaller boy to explain.  "Peter has an older brother in seventh year."  
  


"Panamore," Peter supplied.

Sirius, who had taken a moment to breathe before diving back into his food, raised an eyebrow at the boy.  "_Panamore_ Pettigrew?" he echoed; his voice quavered with repressed laughter.

Peter nodded, frowning at the dark-haired boy as if struggling to figure out just what was so amusing.  "Right.  ...but we call him 'Pan' for short."  
  


James burst out laughing.  "P-Peter and...and Pan!" he crowed; his voice bounced around the empty hall at ten times its volume, so much so that Remus spent a few nervous moments watching the door, expecting an angry McGonagall to poke her head in any moment and demand that they go to bed.  When she didn't appear, he turned back just in time to see Peter throw a glare at James.

"What's so funny about that?"

"Oh, come on," James said with a grin, reaching up to adjust his round black glasses.  "Peter Pan?  Boy who never wanted to grow up?  Honestly, don't you guys pay _any_ attention to Muggle culture at _all_?"

Receiving only blank looks from Peter and Sirius and a non-committal shrug from Remus, James shook his head in exasperation and crossed his arms on the table.  "_Anyway_," he said, casting a brief, apologetic grin at Remus, "Peter's brother...Pan..."  He spent a moment trying to force back his laughter, which ended in a little snort of amusement before he could continue.  "Like Pete was saying, when Pan was in fourth year, he found a secret passageway in the castle that leads--"  Despite the completely empty hall, he glanced around, then leaned far forward to finish the sentence.  "--right into Hogsmeade."  
  


Remus, who had heard of the all-wizard community from his parents, felt his eyes widen.

"Of course, first years aren't allowed to go to Hogsmeade," Peter said, his cheeks still slightly flushed from his earlier irritation.  "You can't go until you're at least in third year, and then only if you have a permission slip from your parents."  
  


"Unless," said James, grinning his wicked I Have A Plan That Could Get Us Expelled grin, "you have an invisibility cloak and a secret passageway."

~*~End Chapter Five~*~

**Friday, January 24, 2003:  **Greetings, all!!  Humooooooongous thanks to the twenty-three reviewers of chapter 4:  Mariliss, evil spapple pie, Skittles, NK, white owl, WildFireFriendship, S.C. Hardy, ForceMuette, Orange, silent-wishes, shadow priestess, Flying Heart, no one, moontimegrouch, Kioko Mitsu, J. Liha, Joey Potter, Moonee, Bookworm 2000, Fleur Delacour, Hello, Balail, and yes, even mark.  

And now, because there were a few questions in Chapter 4's reviews, iiiiiiiiit's Q&A time!  ^_~

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**Q:  **Sevvie's a little selfish, isn't he?  Is he going to work on any of the assignment?  Remmie can't do all the work...  Selfish Snape.  What does 'xenophobes' mean? (evil spapple pie)

**A:  **Severus will, indeed, be working on some of the assignment. ^_~  He and Remus, actually, were supposed to meet to go over his part of things, but as Remus spent that time in the infirmary...well.  But Snape will definitely make an appearance in chapter 6.  As for your second question, a xenophobe is someone who is afraid of things that are foreign or strange or extremely different from him/her—such as werewolves.  

**Q:  **I just hope this doesn't become a love story between Sirius and Remus; I hate those fics.  (Orange)

**A:  **Ehehehehehehwell.  ^__^;  I'm sorry to disappoint you, Orange, but as the warning in the first chapter states, that is indeed the direction this fic is heading.  If you disapprove of that, and it sounds as if you just might, then you're welcome to stop reading, but if it's how authors handle the relationship that bothers you more than the relationship itself, then I ask that you give me a shot.  *shrug*  First off, the romance aspect of things won't happen until Remus and Sirius are much older—perhaps not until fourth or fifth year—and second of all, I swear on Remus' bushy wolf tail that this will _not_ just be all about s-e-x.  So, I do hope you'll give it a chance, but if you'd rather not, I understand completely, and wish you well. ^_^

**Q:  **Are Malfoy and Wealsey and Snape and The Marauders in the same year? I didn't think that Malfoy and The Marauders were in the same year...O_o (Flying Heart)

**A:  **As far as I know, there's nothing in the books that says precisely how old The Marauders are in relation to Lucius Malfoy.  Now, granted, there's a very good chance that in a later book, dear J.K. will prove me wrong, here, but in this story, yes, Lucius Malfoy is in the same year as the Marauders.  Again, I'm not sure how well this matches with J.K.'s vision of the characters, but I think it's plausible, so...well, there you go. ^_^

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If there are any more questions, just leave 'em in your reviews and I'd be glad to answer them.  And now, because I unfortunately don't have any excerpts to share (sorry! ^_^;), I'll address three reviewers who I think deserve addressing.  

First of all, I want to thank **Kioko Mitsu** and **Joey Potter**:  the two of you left the kinds of reviews all fanfic authors dream of—longer than a sentence, thoughtful, and filled with details that demonstrate a thorough reading of the chapter.  I appreciate all the reviews I receive, but reviews like these always make me smile that wide toothy smile that gives random passersby reason question my sanity. ^_~  So, thank you. 

And now, to **Fleur Delacour**.  Thank you for all you said in your review; it's brave to say things of that caliber in an open space like a review page, and I'm glad that it was me you chose to say them to.  I'd also like to invite you to join the okamalist, which is a yahoo groups mailing list I run geared towards gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered, and supportive-straight fanfiction authors; a link to it can be found on my fanfiction.net member page, or you can go to the main page of my website and put your email address in the Join box.  You don't _have_ to join, of course. ^_~  But I just thought I'd invite you, because we have a lot of fun, and I think it's a good community to enter into considering the problems you're having with your family and friends.  

Anyway, okay.  Spiel over. ^_^  And anyone else, of course, who would like to join the okamalist is welcome.  *nod*  

Allllllllll righty, then.  I suppose that's all for me.  Sorry for the lack of any excerpt from chapter 6, but there's a very good reason for that—it's not written yet. ^_~  However, I will tell you that Snape will return, and that there will definitely be more with the book Remus rescued from the library.  And that's alllllllll I'm going to say. ^_~  Thanks again, everyone!  

~Ryuen


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